Slender Fingers
by PoemJunkie
Summary: COMPLETE Brennan reflects on past friends, experiences and Shalimar while sitting in the park one day. Can he come to terms with his past and learn to live.... and love again?
1. Sketches of the Past

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
Brennan sat, staring at his hands. He had perfect hands, everyone said so. His thoughts drifted through everyone who had ever told him his hands were beautiful. One of his buddies back from his con days had often admired them. Having good hands was a crucial part of pick-pocketing and Brennan had them. That's what everyone thought he did with his hands; steal.  
  
He had never told any of his friends that he played the piano. He was quite good actually, but then he was good at everything he did with his hands. He painted and sculpted, or had, once upon a time. He still wrote poetry now and again, had even sold a few when he was on the streets and times had been especially hard. But they were just pretty words from slender fingers.  
  
He didn't do any of it anymore. He fought until his knuckles bled, and he hacked and typed until his fingers were raw and stiff. He had pursued none of his talents. He didn't have the time or the desire. His step father would have thought him a total failure. Brennan smirked.  
  
He wasn't particularly concerned with what his father thought.  
  
Brennan sat in the middle of a park, with children playing and laughing. He watched as a mother called a child that had strayed a little too far from her side for her comfort.  
  
He had never had a mother.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A three-year-old looked up at his step father. The two looked a bit alike, both with dark hair and handsome features. To anyone looking it wasn't immediately recognizable that the two weren't father and son. The only difference seemed to be in the eyes.  
  
Brennan had deep chocolate eyes, wide and curious, almost never blinking, refusing to miss a mill-second of the life going on around him. The eyes were laughing and mischievous, practically glowing with his child-like energy.  
  
His step father had blue eyes. It gave Brennan the shivers when he looked into them, and, young though he was, the boy realized that those eyes were dead. They had died three years ago on the day he had killed his mother.  
  
No one had ever told him this to his face, but he knew that it was true. He had killed his mother and he was killing his father.  
  
Brennan called his step father just that- father. He and his step father were the only ones that knew that Brennan was not his real son, and it was going to stay that way. And so, Brennan called the man father. In his mind there was no other way to call him, though he knew most other kids didn't call their fathers that. Other kids called their fathers 'Dad' or 'Papa' or 'Daddy'.  
  
But those were names of affection.  
  
Brennan knew that he did not deserve his father's affection.  
  
Murderers aren't supposed to be loved, he figured.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Brennan's lips quirked upwards. It wasn't a smile. He couldn't remember the last time he had really and truly smiled. It wasn't even a smirk. He smirked a lot. Or a cocky, good natured grin. That was another favorite.  
  
All part of The Mask.  
  
The women, the parties, the clubs, the wise-acre jokes... all of it.  
  
Fake.  
  
He didn't know if he could do 'real' anymore. But then, who was to say what was 'real'? Sometimes he felt like he had been wearing The Mask for so long it had become him. Maybe it had. He wasn't sure anymore.  
  
Except..  
  
The Mask cracked once in awhile. When he almost kissed Shalimar in the safe house, before Gabriel interrupted them. When he almost kissed Shalimar in Sanctuary, before Gabriel interrupted them. When he had almost kissed Shalimar in the woods before her feral senses interrupted them.  
  
Which brings us back to the park, where he was sitting staring at his hands.  
  
And avoiding Shalimar.  
  
If he hung around her long enough, sooner or later there wasn't going to be an interruption when they went to kiss. He knew if he kissed Shalimar, his mask would shatter into a hundred thousand pieces. He couldn't let that happen.  
  
No matter how much he wanted it. No matter how much he NEEDED it.  
  
Sighing he stood up and started slowly home. No, not home. Just to Sanctuary. He had never really had a home; they were all just places to stay. He continued slowly towards the entrance to the park. He spotted a young girl, probably just sixteen painting a scene of the park. He wandered by, and saw that it was actually quite good. Not excellent, but not half bad. The woman was concentrating, frowning as the sky color she was mixing wasn't coming out as well as she had hoped apparently.  
  
"You're not mixing the colors correctly." The words slipped out before he could stop them.  
  
She looked at him, startled. "What?"  
  
Great. Now he had drawn attention to himself. He supposed it couldn't hurt to help her, though. He slipped in next to her. "May I?" he asked as her slipped the pallet from her hands. "You're not mixing the color of the sky correctly," he told her again. He mixed in some more white, and then concentrated on mixing in the exact right amount of blue, until he had an almost exact match to the color of the sky. "See?" he said as he handed it back to her. She was staring at him with her wide green eyes. "I would use a softer green than that; it's drawing away from the rest of the picture."  
  
He turned away, but she stopped him. "Do you paint?" she questioned, a little shyly.  
  
He paused, considering lying. But it didn't really matter. "I used to. Not anymore." And with that, he left the girl staring after him confusedly. She finally simply shrugged and turned back to her painting.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Brennan stepped through the door of his room. He was frowning slightly, face clouded. He dropped to his knees before his bed and rummaged under it for a moment, finally bringing forth a battered leather art portfolio. He opened it and rummaged for a fresh piece of sketch paper and some charcoal sketch pencils.  
  
It had been awhile since he had drawn anything, but seeing the teenage girl in the park painting, just painting, for fun, had inspired him. His eyes glazed over and he picked up the pencil and began the smooth pencil strokes over the paper. He worked steadily, focusing completely on his work.  
  
Eventually, almost an hour later, he finished and set the drawing down. Tiredly he stumbled to the bathroom to take a shower.  
  
He left the drawing of Shalimar on his bed.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Shalimar walked by Brennan's room. She stopped a goggled.  
  
Brennan, Mr. Neat-freak himself, had stuff COVERING his bed.  
  
Now THIS was an event!  
  
She slipped in, and over to his bed. She blinked when she saw the papers on Brennan's bed were actually drawings. Really GOOD drawings! There were landscapes and portraits, and drawing after drawing of a pair of hands. And there was a drawing of. her? Her, a peaceful look on her face, and eyes closed, her long lashes resting softly on her cheeks.  
  
She cocked her head, confused. She didn't know Brennan was an artist, but at the bottom corner of each sketch, there was his signature, clear as day.  
  
"Hey," came a soft greeting behind her. She turned to see Brennan, hair still damp from his shower, and only a towel slung around his waist. [1] Shal somehow managed to peek at his very nice chest without making it obvious what she was doing.  
  
Brennan made his way over to the dresser and pulled out a ratty T-shirt, ignoring the fact that Shalimar was standing there, still trying to sneak peaks. He pulled the shirt over his head and then turned around and faced Shalimar, who blinked.  
  
Brennan raised an eyebrow at her, waiting expectantly. After a moment of silence he sighed and said, "Do you want to turn around so I can finish getting dressed?"  
  
Shalimar blushed bright red. "Oh...right. Sorry," she managed to stutter out, extremely embarrassed. She turned to face the wall, using a hand as a blinder to make sure that she wouldn't see anything, no matter how tempting it was. She heard the rustling of clothing and tried not to think of Brennan changing.  
  
Although it was a very pleasing image.  
  
Gak! 'Ok, Shalimar, get a hold of yourself,' she chided herself in her mind. She needed a distraction. To pick a safe topic to talk about. Her eyes fell on the picture Brennan had drawn of her. Art seemed safe enough. She picked up the sketch. "How long have you been drawing?" she asked over her shoulder, hoping she didn't sound too nosy.  
  
"You can look now." She turned to see that he was indeed clad in gray sweatpants just as ratty as his T-shirt. To her question he just shrugged. "I dunno. Forever." He started collecting his old drawings, spread out in his search for a clean sheet of paper.  
  
"They're REALLY good."  
  
"Well, good to know all those lessons weren't a COMPLETE waste then," he muttered bitterly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Jesse wasn't the only one 'born with a silver spoon in his mouth' as he had once put it. As a matter of fact, Brennan had been born with a GOLD spoon in HIS mouth. Who would have guessed it, right?  
  
Brennan Mulwray; rich kid.  
  
A miserable rich kid. His life was an endless round of restrictions and lessons. There were art lessons and piano lessons, tutoring sessions, though he didn't need them. His life had been an endless refrain of boring cotillions and private schools. Endless orders from his father, his teachers, everyone!  
  
He put up with it. Put up with it all. But it wasn't enough.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Father?" Brennan said, almost in a whisper. There was no answer from the man in the chair, drinking from a wineglass. Brennan stood there, in his pajamas, uncertain. He was taking a HUGE risk here, especially when his father had been drinking. He wouldn't have been here, but he was so scared.  
  
It was storming horribly outside, a terrible lightning storm.  
  
Brennan wasn't afraid of the storm.  
  
Which is what scared him.  
  
Ever since he could remember he had been drawn by lightning, by any form of electricity in its pure form. It drew him like a moth to a flame.  
  
And that scared him. Especially when he found out he could make sparks come out of his fingers. He had to be careful at all times now, no one could know about this.  
  
He refused to give his father another reason to hate him.  
  
"Father?" he ventured again, even more timidly. His step father turned his dead blue eyes on his 'son', acknowledging his presence, but still not speaking. Brennnan was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea. "Can I stay here with you? I... I'm scared of the storm," he stuttered, unsure of himself.  
  
His father did not answer, simply went back to brooding. Brennan shifted slightly. "Go back to bed. It's just a storm," his dull reply came from the chair.  
  
Brennan paused. Going back to bed would probably be a good idea, but he really didn't want to.  
  
He took a hesitant step forward. "But..."  
  
With one fluid motion his father was up and grabbed him roughly. "I told you. Go. Back. To. Bed," he said through clenched teeth.  
  
The five-year-old whimpered. "Father, you're hurting me!" he choked out.  
  
Brennan felt his fear surging up. It was all he could do to keep it from overflowing. Fear was a weakness and Brennan knew better than to shoe weakness to his father; it just wasn't done. But he was five! He WAS weak, and scared. He was just a little boy who wanted his mother.  
  
But he didn't have a mother.  
  
Because he had killed her.  
  
When the blow from his father hit his temple, Brennan cried out, but did not fight back. He didn't defend himself. He had committed a horrible crime; he deserved to be punished. His father pushed him roughly to the ground, then sat back down.  
  
"Go back to bed. You have a piano lesson tomorrow," his father's voice came, as cold and dead as his eyes.  
  
"Y-yes Father," Brennan choked out, stumbling out of the room. He gingerly touched the spot where his father had hit him. He did not allow himself to cry until he reached his bedroom.  
  
Crying was a weakness too.  
  
The next day, he arrived at his piano lesson sporting a black eye. His father had not mentioned it, and neither had Brennan. His father had never hit him before and Brennan knew that he had deserved the punishment.  
  
His teacher was Ms. Kerry, a cheerful young woman with curly black hair, who taught Brennan the piano twice a week. She was delighted to have found such a promising young student. Brennan could play the piano by ear, and it was convincing him to read the notes and follow the music that was the hard part. He was a bright little thing, and learned the notes quickly enough, but was stubborn.  
  
When she had been approached by his father, Kerry had not been looking forward to teaching some rich guy's spoiled brat. But the man had looked at her with cold, empty, blue eyes and offered her a shit-load of cash that she couldn't turn down.  
  
Much to her surprise, Brennan was shy and sweet, not spoiled at all. He was very serious, and she kept forgetting that he was only five she found herself falling in love with the little sweetheart.  
  
When he arrived at his lesson with that black eye, she was immediately concerned. But when she questioned him on it, his reply was that he had fallen. She frowned, not entirely believing it but willing to dismiss it. She figured he had gotten into a scuffle with another boy who had managed to land a lucky punch and he was embarrassed about it.  
  
The lesson went well, with Brennan doing exactly what she wanted. He did it without question or comment, which irked Kerry. Usually he would groan through the easy stuff that she made him do for warm-ups and would comment when she let him do some harder pieces. He was distracted today, managing to still play perfectly while his mind was on something else.  
  
Halfway through, they took a break. Their break was always exactly seven minutes long, Kerry timed it. During those seven minutes, Kerry gave Brennan a glass of milk, and the two would talk. And so, for exactly fourteen minutes a week, Brennan felt loved, and like he had a mother. It was too short, but it was more than he felt he deserved.  
  
Years passed, and Brennan started showing up to his practices with black eyes and bruises more and more often. At first Kerry thought that he was getting bullied by neighborhood kids, but soon dismissed that. She suspected the truth, but couldn't pry it out of Brennan. She tried, lord knows, because Brennan's light was dimming more and more each time she saw him. He always looked tired, and she knew that tutoring sessions and art lessons had been added. His smiles were a rare occurrence now, few and far between. She had approached his father, who had coldly informed her that the next time he felt he needed her advice on raising his son, he would ask it.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
[1] Oooh... Yummy eye candy!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Rockergurl: And THAT, my friends, is chapter numero uno. So... what'd you think?  
  
Readers: ...  
  
Kitta Cat: I think you should cease and desist from all fic writing whatsoever from now on. But that's just me.  
  
Rockergurl: Oh... go stuff a chicken! 


	2. Away in the rain

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
Ms. Kerry had told him countless times that he had beautiful hands. "These hands, Brennan, will do great things one day," she had once informed him seriously. "They may never write a symphony, and they may never hold the brush that paints a masterpiece, but I promise you, Brennan, these hands will do great things."  
  
Brennan had been confused at the time. He understood now. The electricity that he threw from these hands saved lives. They had curled into fists and defended helpless people. These slender fingers had done great things. It almost made up for what he had done to his mother.  
  
Almost.  
  
Brennan went to the park again the next day. He saw the same girl, painting the same picture, just where she had been yesterday. "Hey," he said roughly.  
  
The girl looked up at him and her green eyes lit up. "Hello again," she said cheerfully.  
  
"What do you think?" she asked, indicating to her painting.  
  
"It's good. You have talent you know."  
  
"I would still paint, even if I didn't," she informed him solemnly.  
  
"You love it, huh?"  
  
"Yes." It was a factual statement, with not a trace of indecision. "The other day you said you used to paint. I don't think that I could ever stop painting."  
  
"Yeah, well, painting never was my true passion, just something I happened to be good at."  
  
"Well, what is?" she asked. "Your true passion?" By this time she had abandoned her painting, and the two of them were sitting next to each other on the grass.  
  
"I don't have one I guess."  
  
To this she grinned. "EVERYONE has a one true passion. It's an unwritten law."  
  
Brennan snorted. "Well, I've broken practically every written law, so why not the unwritten ones?"  
  
She shook her head seriously, her reddish-blonde hair waving. "You can't break unwritten law. If you could, it would be a written law."  
  
Brennan frowned, a little perplexed. "What do you mean?"  
  
"UNWRITTEN law is the law of the heart, and the law of the soul. You can't break that kind of law."  
  
Brennan reflected on this for a moment. The girl just grinned. "You have a true passion. Believe me. You just haven't found it yet. Don't worry. You will."  
  
Brennan flopped back into the grass and looked up at the sky. "Maybe. Don't hold your breath though."  
  
The girl laughed and flopped next to him. The two sat in a comfortable silence, staring up as the clouds drifted by.  
  
The girl rolled onto her stomach, a thoughtful look on her face. Brennan glanced at her. "Do you believe in Heaven?" she asked suddenly.  
  
Brennan raised an eyebrow. "Well, that was random."  
  
She sighed. "Do you?"  
  
"Yes," he replied after a moments thought. "My mother is in Heaven, or so everyone says. They say she was a wonderful person. That she loved to laugh. I think that there has to be someplace for beautiful people like my mother. It wouldn't be fair otherwise."  
  
"Who said that life was fair?"  
  
"No one. I'm not talking about life. I'm talking about death," he informed her. His eyes glazed over. "I wish..."  
  
When he didn't finish she looked at him. "You wish what?"  
  
"I just want to stand by the gates for one minute. I want to see her face, just once. I never knew her. I saw a picture of her once. I don't remember it much. She had red hair. I remember that much. Her face, though, nothing. Not one little snippet. I just want to see her face. Then I can go to Hell."  
  
"Who says that you're going to Hell?"  
  
"I went to Hell a long time ago," he whispered almost inaudibly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Look at me, girl!" he chirped, tapping his chest and changing his mood completely. "Bad boy, through and through. I am SO not getting into Heaven, I'd corrupt all the angels!" he smirked, playfully. She laughed, and Brennan breathed an inner sigh of relief. He was letting his real self show too much. He would have to watch that. Strange how this girl could make him open up so much.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
At the dinner table, Brennan sat across from his father. It was completely silent, neither speaking. He was now ten, and his eyes were guarded. Everything about him was guarded, and he no longer did anything without thinking about whether it would upset his father and in turn cause him pain. He didn't have any friends, because he didn't have the time. Every second of his life ran on a strict schedule.  
  
Brennan's eyes were on his plate, and he ate mechanically. He doubted that he would bother eating, but it was expected of him, so he would do it. He forced himself to finish his meal, working steadily to clear his plate. He needed to finish, then he could be dismissed. He knew that he would go straight to bed. He couldn't seem to get enough sleep lately, he was always exhausted. He managed to choke down the last of the meal, and looked up at his father. His father's plate was untouched, but he was on his fourth or fifth glass of wine.  
  
"May I please be excused?" Brennan asked.  
  
"No," came the immediate answer.  
  
No? Now this was a new development. "I have finished my meal."  
  
"I said no."  
  
Anger shot through Brennan. He was so sick of the way his father treated him. He tried; really, he did, to do everything that his father told him to do. He had gone to the stupid tutoring sessions for things he wasn't having any trouble in the first place, went to the art and piano lessons.  
  
He gripped the side of the table tightly. It didn't matter HOW obedient or willing he was, no matter how much he complied with his father's wishes, it never stopped. His father still hit him, and he just hated Brennan all the more.  
  
"Stop sulking," he ordered coldly.  
  
Before he could stop himself, he replied, "I am NOT sulking."  
  
MISTAKE! MISTAKE! MISTAKE! Warning signals were flashing in his ten-year- old brain.  
  
His father's eyes narrowed. "Are you contradicting me, boy?"  
  
"I didn't mean it, Father-"  
  
"Shut up. You never say anything you don't mean, boy, don't lie to me."  
  
Brennan was visibly shaking now. The alarm bells in his head were deafening. He had contradicted his father, he was showing weakness! Oh, God. Brennan tried to get himself under control. His father was standing now, and Brennan's fear was getting to the point of uncontrollable. "Father, PLEASE!" His father grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "Ah!" cried Brennan.  
  
His father dragged him out of his chair by his hair. Brennan's eyes glazed over and he started to shut down. He put on his Mask. The Mask would get him through this.  
  
The first blow fell. It hurt, but Brennan did not cry out. To do so would be weak, and it would not help. As a matter of fact it would make it worse. Eventually, Brennan went down, and curled into a fetal position. His father started to kick him.  
  
'That hurts!'  
  
'Don't cry. It is weakness. Do not show him weakness.'  
  
'Hurts! Pain!'  
  
'Do not show weakness; do not show weakness, donotshowweakness, donotshowweakness.'  
  
The mantra ran through his head as the blows rained down on him. Sometimes Brennan felt like he was two people. A scared little boy and the mask that little boy hid behind to survive. Sometimes it didn't seem fair that he had never gotten to be a little boy. that he had to lock that part of him up in the back of his mind.  
  
His brain vaguely registered that he was being dragged up by his hair again. His body was thrown against the wall. He slumped to the floor. He no longer had the strength to curl up and defend himself. He realized this beating was more severe than others he had received, even though his father was not cutting him or burning him with his cigarette this time.  
  
"Father, Father, please, STOP! Please! Stop it!" he choked out, spitting up a little blood as his father kicked his stomach repeatedly.  
  
'Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry, don't cry, donotcrydonotcrydonotcrydonotcry...'  
  
His father kicked him again. Brennan gasped in pain, hearing a distinct crack. A rib, at least cracked, probably broken. The information came to him in an almost detached way. That's how it was when Brennan was behind The Mask. He felt the pain, oh, God, did he feel it, but it was almost as if he were away from himself, watching what happened. Everything was fuzzy, like it was coming in on an old TV or something. You got numb to the pain after awhile.  
  
Brennan felt another crack. "Stop it! STOP!"  
  
It did no good. His father simply ignored him and continued. "Stop!" shrieked Brennan.  
  
His father was screaming at him. Calling Brennan names, telling him how useless, ungrateful and stupid he was.  
  
"Stop! Stop it!" shrieked Brennan again, losing all control.  
  
"You are USELESS! A waste of space! Your mother DIED to have you! This is how you repay her, you little shit? You're a waste of your mother's talent!"  
  
And then Brennan snapped.  
  
"I SAID STOP IT!" And with that there was electricity coursing through his fingers at his father. His father was thrown against the opposite wall. Brennan, the last of his energy spent, fell back limply on the floor, breathing with difficulty.  
  
He was shaking even more violently than before. This time in horror. What had he done? Had he killed his father as he had his mother? Then he heard a groan. He looked over, and was shocked to see his father stir a bit before slumping back, unconscious.  
  
Brennan looked down at his long pale fingers. That was it. He was dead now, his father would kill him. There was no doubt in his mind. Unless... Unless he wasn't here to kill. Brennan dragged himself up by the table, his legs shaking horribly. Breathing slowly, he clutched his ribs and stumbled out of the room drunkenly, leaning on the wall for support. He stepped out the door into the driving rain. Brennan blinked, wondering faintly when it had started to storm. He stumbled through the rain blindly, holding onto his cracked ribs.  
  
He did not know how long he had been walking when he blinked up at his piano teacher's house. How had he ended up here? He wasn't sure, but didn't suppose that it mattered. He managed to knock on the door.  
  
He leaned heavily against the doorframe, mostly because he didn't think that he could hold his battered body up anymore. The door opened and Ms. Kerry stood there, gaping at her student.  
  
"Brennan?" she asked in shock.  
  
"My father, he..... um... Can I come in?" Brennan slurred drunkenly.  
  
She ushered him in and immediately got a blanket to cover his chilled form. "Brennan, what the Hell happened?"  
  
Brennan just sat there, assessing his damaged body. Two ribs, both at least cracked, though he suspected at least one was broken. One eye was swollen shut, and there was blood running from it, along with from his temple. Bruises covered his arms and legs, and he had trouble seeing straight. He figured he must have a concussion.  
  
"I..... My father. he....." Brennan gulped some air. "I have to go," he said abruptly. He stood up, swaying for a moment. "I'm sorry, it's just... I have to... I need to go. I have to do something. I don't know why I came here."  
  
"Brennan, wait! You're not making any sense!"  
  
"I just wanted to thank you. You'll never know what you meant to me."  
  
"Brennan, what are you talking about?"  
  
"I have to go." And with that, he stepped out into the storm.  
  
"Brennan! Wait!"  
  
But it was too late. He was gone.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
It was raining outside, so Brennan made sure to take an umbrella. Shal would surely kill him otherwise. Just as he was about to leave the afore mentioned feral spotted him. "Hey, Brennan, where do you think you're going?"  
  
"To the park. It's a beautiful day."  
  
"Brennan. It's raining," she told him, giving him a weird look.  
  
"So? Who says rain isn't beautiful?"  
  
Shalimar gave him an amused look. "Didn't you go to the park yesterday?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why the obsession with the park lately?"  
  
"I find peace there. It's something I need." He closed his eyes momentarily. "Sometimes life gets to be too much, and I need refuge. I'll be back soon."  
  
"Brennan, you can't hide from life forever," Shalimar told him, eyes shining with concern.  
  
"Don't worry, I won't." He reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. He let his hand linger there for a moment longer than needed.  
  
"Brennan?" He looked into her deep brown eyes. She was concerned and confused, maybe a little hurt that he wasn't confiding in her. He let his hand drop.  
  
"I'll be back soon," he said again. Then he left. Shalimar stared after him, then lifted her hand and brushed the spot that Brennan's hand had lingered.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Despite the rain, the girl was there, also under an umbrella. She grinned when she saw him. "I figured you would come today."  
  
"Sorry you can't work on your painting today."  
  
"It doesn't matter. I needed a break anyway." They turned and started walking. "Have you found it yet?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your true passion!"  
  
"Oh. THAT. No, not yet."  
  
"You will," she said confidently.  
  
"Glad one of us thinks so."  
  
They continued on. She stared up at the sky and the falling rain. Brennan wrinkled his nose. What he had told Shalimar was true; the rain WAS beautiful. But when he was wet he couldn't use his powers, and it made him feel vulnerable. Which was why he was wearing rubber boots and standing firmly under his umbrella.  
  
Suddenly the girl turned to him. "Have you ever danced in the rain?"  
  
"Danced? In the RAIN?"  
  
"Yeah! Look!" And with that, she closed her umbrella. She dropped it on the ground. She held her arms out and started to spin.  
  
"Are you crazy? You're going to get pneumonia!"  
  
She ignored him, dancing to music only she could hear, laughing and twirling. "Come on! It's FUN!" she called as she did a cartwheel.  
  
Brennan rolled his eyes. He paused, eyeing his umbrella. Then he sighed in defeat and closed it. "What the Hell. I might as well, right?" Her green eyes lit up as she saw him join her. He twirled her and she giggled, and he found himself laughing along with her. He hadn't laughed in a really long time. And he was actually smiling. An actual, REAL smile.  
  
When they both collapsed, soaked and breathless, onto the grass, Brennan found a sort of peacefulness settle over him. He, with this girl's help, was finding himself again. His Mask was slipping more often, and he found it wasn't a bad change. He still wasn't ready to lose it completely, but it was a start.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Rockergurl: And I finish Chapter TWO! Yay! I rock. I rock. I rock.  
  
Kitta Cat: Brennan's out of character.  
  
Rockergurl: No, see, he's not! His exterior on the show is just a cover-up for his real, vulnerable, poet self!  
  
Kitta Cat: ...  
  
I still say he's out of character.  
  
Rockergurl: ::throws up hands:: OK! So he's out of character! YOU'RE my MUSE, inspire me to write him IN character if it freaks you so much. ::sulks::  
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  
  
REVIEW RESPONSES:  
  
QUEST: Why, thank you! Hehehe, I thought it was quite amusing myself.  
  
SARGE: Ah. The dreaded 'White Screen Syndrome'. I know it well.  
  
ME: Not as much as my over inflated ego would like. ^__~  
  
PETITECAT: Look! An update! As for Brennan and his father, hope this satisfied some of your curiosity.  
  
LEIGH, EVENFARMERSONLYGAL, CHARMING KITTY CAT: Ok, just want to get one thing straight. I will NEVER discontinue a fic. I write them ALL the way through before I start typing, so there is NO danger of me not continuing a fic. Don't you HATE when writers do that? Ya, me to. I refuse to become one.  
  
LUCYGOOSEY: Here ya go. More.  
  
CHIMAERA-104: Amazing? Really? ::blushes:: Awww... 


	3. Names to Hide Behind

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
A/N : I would like to point out right here and now. Any and all romance anyone might see between Brennan and ANY of my OCs WHATSOEVER is all in your mind. It is Bren/Shal ALL THE WAY BABY!!!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Brennan caused a bit of a stir when he walked into Sanctuary. For one thing, his clothes were muddy and wrinkled, and his hair in a state of complete disarray, a rare thing in itself, but the electrical was sopping wet. "What the Hell happened to you?" The shocked question came from all sides.  
  
Brennan smirked. "I went dancing." Then he left his stumped teammates behind to take a hot shower and get himself cleaned up.  
  
As soon as he left, Shalimar exclaimed, "What is UP with him lately?" She sent a pleading look to Emma. "Emma, can't you read him, or something?"  
  
Emma glared at Shalimar. "I try not to read my friends without their permission, unless I think they're in trouble."  
  
"But Brennan might be in trouble! He's been hanging out at the park more than he has here! He barely talks to me any more!"  
  
"So, he A) has a new girlfriend who likes the park, or, B) finds the park relaxing. What's the big deal?" Emma asked, unconcerned.  
  
"He so better NOT have a new girlfriend," Shalimar muttered.  
  
"What was that?" asked Emma impishly, knowing perfectly well what she had said. Shal just gave her a 'shut up' look. Emma laughed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Brennan was shivering violently. His ribs still hurt terribly, and his cuts and bruises stung. He still couldn't see out of his right eye. It had been thirty-six hours since he had run away from home. He was freezing, staving and exhausted. But he was alive. He had to be careful, because if he was recognized, which wasn't likely, but possible, he would be sent back to his father, who would kill him. He was currently in the poorest part of town, where street kids were a dime a dozen. No one looked twice at his battered body or guarded eyes, because there were those worse off then him.  
  
Brennan heard someone stumble through the trash, and he tensed. Probably a drunk, possibly a cop...  
  
He hoped for the former fervently. The man who stepped out from the shadows didn't appear to be either, but looks could be deceiving. His father didn't look like an abusive alcoholic either, or the guy could be a plain clothes cop. The guy cast a look at Brennan and lit up a cigarette. He took a long drag. "Who did that to your face, kid?"  
  
Brennan glared with his good eye and clutched his ribs. "Didn't know it was any of your business," he sneered.  
  
The guy gave a short laugh. "You got guts for such a scrawny thing. You're what, nine? That's hysterical." He took another drag of his cigarette. Brennan growled, which made the man laugh again. "Well, I got a little tiger on my hands, I do believe. What's your name, kid?"  
  
"I didn't know THAT was any of your business either," Brennan growled.  
  
The guy threw back his head and laughed. He paused, blowing some smoke rings. "You, kid," he said, pointing to Brennan with his cigarette, "are the funniest thing I've come along in awhile. Sure are cocky for a street kid." Brennan scowled and shifted in his spot in the corner.  
  
"If you're gunna mug me, I ain't got no money, if you're going to kill me, do it and get it over with, and if you're gunna rape me, at least kill me when you're done."  
  
Now THAT got the guy's interest. He could tell the kid was green. He couldn't have been on the streets for more than three days, tops. He knew these things. But he talked like a kid raised on the streets. "I ain't gunna mug, kill or rape ya kid. God, THAT'S an attitude to have." The guy gave a snort and another drag.  
  
"Then go away!"  
  
"Naw, don't think I will. You're amusing as Hell, kid. Look, you want some food and a bed, you follow me." He started to turn.  
  
"What's the catch?"  
  
"Don't do catches, kid. Too complicated. You come, you eat, you sleep, and you leave if you want, or you stay. No big deal. Got a street rat or two there already, but they don't got your spunk. You coming or not?"  
  
This was potentially dangerous, but Brennan wasn't in a position to pick and choose. And food and a bed sounded AWFULLY nice. With a sigh he got up and followed.  
  
"Ah, and have you decided to join me after all, Tiger?" Brennan growled. "What? You didn't volunteer a name. You can call me Jay. Now, at my place I ain't got nothing to steal, so I ain't worried 'bout that. Try not to scrap with the other street rats too much, and you got yourself a place to stay. And I AM calling you Tiger 'til I get something better from you, so get used to it or 'fess up your real name." Brennan growled again, but didn't answer. Jay shrugged. "Tiger it is then."  
  
Jay's place was basically an old warehouse. He owned it, but the building was nothing like a house. There were random pieces of furniture, most old and all mismatched. It was in no specific order, with one bed in with a heave oak dining table. Jay's other current resident street rats didn't care, and neither did Brennan. The others were too cold and uncomfortable to stay with him long, Jay knew. He knew these things. But both had needed a warm bed for a few days.  
  
Jay introduced Brennan, or at least Tiger, to them and they nodded in acknowledgement and scuttled away. As Jay thought, they wouldn't stay long.  
  
Brennan however was to stay there on and off for the next eight years of his life. Jay, as soon as he realized that Tiger was going to be a semi- regular tenant at his home started teaching him everything he knew.  
  
He taught him about cars. How to fix them, how to drive them, how to break into them, how to hotwire them.  
  
He taught him about people. How to deal with them, how to seduce them, how to steal from them.  
  
He taught him how to fight. How to defend himself, how to handle one-on-one fights vs. gangs with knives and chains. He even gave him a sharp knife that could be used in a fight that Brennan kept in his boot.  
  
He taught Brennan everything he knew about hotwiring and pick-pocketing. Brennan managed to finish school at Jay's request, and although he had no trouble with his subjects, he simply considered school to be boring. However, Jay had taken him in and was putting up with his teenage angst years, so Brennan figured he could suffer through.  
  
Brennan never told Jay his real name, though he knew Jay had probably figured out who he was. He went to the shoddy public schools that had metal detectors and chain-link over the windows. He went with dyed hair he hated, but no one recognized him as the runaway from the papers at least. All in all, this life was better than the one he had led with his step-father.  
  
Jay eventually started calling him Ty after Brennan out grew Tiger. He had enrolled in school under Ty Avery. Avery had been his mother's first name, and he felt comfortable using it. He was no longer Brennan Mulwray.  
  
He watched through the yeas as Jay brought home other runaways and orphans, taking him under his wing for as long as they would stay. Most only did for a few days, some a couple of weeks, and a rare one a month or two. He wasn't sure why he himself stuck around, but he did. Jay did his best with him, and although he admittedly picked up an illegal habit from the man, Jay didn't do a half bad job of bringing him up.  
  
But the day he finished high school, he knew that it was time. He dyed his hair back to the original black. He was no longer a child. For that matter, he wasn't sure he had ever been a child, but today was the day the world stopped treating him like one. He was eighteen now, his father had no control over him anymore. He didn't have to hide behind Ty Avery anymore. He could be himself.  
  
If he had a self left to be, that was.  
  
That day he went to the warehouse. Jay was sprawled on the couch, comfortably smoking, as usual. "Hey, Ty," he called.  
  
"My name is Brennan. Mulwray."  
  
Jay turned his eyes onto his young charge. Not so young anymore, he realized. "And why are you telling me this now, after all this time?"  
  
"You saved my life. I figured you deserved to know. Avery was my mother's name. I never knew my real father; he died before I was born. My mother was desperate to find a father for her baby. She married a very rich man who had been madly in love with her for years. They were married seven months when I was born. She died from birth complications. I killed her. He blamed me for her death. It was him that gave me those bruises. The night I ran away, I fought back. He would have killed me, so I left. I grew up calling him 'Father'. You have done more for me than he EVER did. And I would like to thank you for that. Thank you, Jay. There's only been one other person I can remember that treated me like you do. Thank you," he said again.  
  
Brennan turned and left. Jay looked after him. "You're welcome...Brennan," he murmured. Jay knew he wouldn't be back. He knew these things.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Well, this is what he got for twirling around in the rain like an idiot. Now he was sick and Emma, Adam, Jesse, and for some reason, especially Shalimar were making a huge fuss about it. Emma kept scolding him about getting wet like that, and Jesse was teasing him unmercifully. Really Brennan loved the man like a brother, but when he got into the mood, God could he tease! As for his best friend, Brennan could tell her it was just a cold, but she could feel his misery, and was making an entirely too big a deal out of it. Adam was almost as bad in his scolding. Brennan wondered if it was make-up for never having anyone fuss over him as a kid by landing him with these four fuss-budgets.  
  
Shalimar was the worst though. She treated it like it was a deadly virus, or at least that's how Brennan saw it. She flat-out refused to let him leave his bed, much less go to the park. She kept him in steady supply of ginger ale and poetry books. She would pop into his room periodically, asking if he needed another blanket, or if he wanted soup, or his pillow fluffed, or a million things.  
  
Such a fuss over him was a hard concept for him to conceive.  
  
Even though as a result he now had a cold and had been taken hostage by the resident feral, Brennan didn't regret letting loose in the rain. He didn't think he'd do it again soon, but if he could go back, he wouldn't do it differently.  
  
Besides, it was kind of nice to be fussed over for once in his life. Though he wouldn't like to have it like this all the time.  
  
Shalimar had popped in on him twice in the past hour and Emma had threatened to psi-blast him if he didn't get some sleep. Brennan didn't see what the big deal about a stuffy nose, sore throat and slight fever was. Ok, so the 'slight' fever was 103, and he also had a migraine and had thrown up a few times...but still.  
  
So he had crossed his eyes at Emma's retreating back and had gone back to his reading. He would have plenty of time to sleep when he was dead.  
  
Shalimar passed his room, to see Brennan sitting up, reading poetry. She slipped in and snatched the book out of his hands. "Hey!" he protested.  
  
"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" she scolded.  
  
"Well, excuse me; I DID think that I was an adult, Shal. You guys don't have to baby me."  
  
"You are a baby."  
  
"I am NOT a baby," he sulked.  
  
"Of course you aren't," she soothed, grinning wickedly.  
  
"Oh, go away!" he moaned, pressing his pillow over his head.  
  
Shalimar laughed and removed the pillow. "Get some sleep, and we'll see if you're well enough to get up tomorrow." She whacked him with his own pillow, and then sauntered off.  
  
Brennan threw the pillow back at her. "Yes, Mother!" She rolled her eyes at him and popped out. Brennan scowled. She had taken his book. Now he had no choice but to go to sleep. He sighed and rolled over.  
  
When Shalimar passed again, she found that he had finally gone to sleep. She smiled softly and entered. She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. She leaned down and brushed her lips against his temple. "Sweet dreams, Brennan," she whispered, pulling up the blankets a little.  
  
She turned to see Jesse and Emma standing in the doorway, each wearing a smirk to rival Brennan's. She blushed furiously. "Um...I was just..." she stuttered.  
  
"Oh, we know what you were JUST," smirked Jesse. "Sweet dreams, Brennan!" he mocked her, pretending to swoon into Emma's arms. Then both Jesse and Emma burst into hysterical laughter.  
  
"Shhhh! Do you want to wake him up?! I JUST got him to go to sleep!" Shalimar hissed.  
  
"Oh, we won't wake him up. The man sleeps like the dead," said Emma dismissively, waving a hand. "Lighten up, Shal."  
  
"Careful Emma, you're talking about the man she LOVES you know," snickered Jesse.  
  
"Shut up!" hissed Shal, quickly shutting Brennan's door. She was blushing bright red.  
  
"Not until you admit it," smirked Emma.  
  
"Admit what?" snapped Shal.  
  
"That you love Brennan!" the both chimed at the same time.  
  
Her eyes bugged out of her head. "SHH! He'll hear you!"  
  
"You mean you haven't told him YET?" Emma asked, rolling her eyes.  
  
"There is nothing to tell! I do NOT love him!"  
  
"So you mean it's ok if I make a move than?" asked Emma playfully.  
  
Shal whirled on her. "Don't you dare!" she snapped. Then, realizing she had fallen into their little trap, she buried her face in her hands. "Crap," she sighed. Jesse and Emma were too busy crowing to notice.  
  
The two ran off, Shalimar in pursuit, Jesse grinning and singing, "Shalimar and Bren~nan, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!", and Emma giggling like mad.  
  
"REAL mature, Jess! What? Are we in kindergarten?" Shal called.  
  
"You're no fun!" he called, sticking out his tongue.  
  
As the three ran around Sanctuary, Brennan pressed his facie into his pillow to muffle his laughter. After all, it wouldn't do to have Shal die of embarrassment. Then, with a silly grin he touched his temple. It was a simple, chaste kiss, probably just between friends, but it was a kiss! And good GOD was he acting like a teenage school girl!  
  
He buried his silly grin back into his pillow. He thought back to the feeling of Shal's lips brushing against his temple. So tenderly...  
  
Were Jesse and Emma right? Did Shalimar love him?  
  
Did he love her?  
  
He wasn't sure he knew. But these past few days he had been taking off his Mask more and more. He was happier than he had been in a long time.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Rockergurl: And Brennan gets even MORE OOC.  
  
Kitta Cat: Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but since YOU brought it up...  
  
Rockergurl: I KNOW! I keep making the tough guys all wimpy! I'm SORRY! I just like reducing them to puddles of tough-guy-mush. It's so much fun...  
  
  
  
REVIEW RESPONSES:  
  
SOMEBODY: Like your name. I myself have always wanted to be Somebody.  
  
ARIANRHOD: Glad to know you liked it.  
  
NOBLEBLUE: Yes, it's about time, isn't it?  
  
SARGE: Yes, I guess he is kinda like Ryder, huh Ri? The one. The only. The sucky fic writer.  
  
ELEMENTAL-SPARKY: Really? The best? What kind of lame fics are you reading??  
  
ITAILIANCHIKE: Yeah, it can apply to Brennan NOW. I had the whole thing planned out and stuff, and then I saw "No Man Left Behind" and it TOTALLY messed up my story line! I was slightly P.O.ed  
  
QUEST: Of course I want to. That's the whole point of my writing.  
  
PETITECAT: Oh, there is SO going to be more Bren/Shal  
  
SKYEYES: keeping it up.  
  
LANFEAR: I like making Brennan all soft and mushy. Hehehe. And yes, there is SOMEONE out there who can resist Brennan's charms.  
  
A/N :As a matter of fact, I would like to point out right here and now. Any and all romance anyone might see between Brennan and ANY of my OCs WHATSOEVER is all in your mind. It is Bren/Shal ALL THE WAY BABY!!! 


	4. BabyTs and Nightclubs

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
A/N : I would like to point out right here and now. Any and all romance anyone might see between Brennan and ANY of my OCs WHATSOEVER is all in your mind. It is Bren/Shal ALL THE WAY BABY!!!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Eighteen-year-old Brennan glared into his rum and coke. He was really too young to drink, but he could get into a lot of bars without an ID. He never really had anything stronger than this, and not much of it at that. The last thing he wanted to do was end up like his step-father; an abusive alcoholic. He didn't need a drinking problem zapping whatever spare cash he was able to scrounge at odd jobs or he had pick-pocketed.  
  
Brennan's life was a simple one. He had a very small apartment, which he lived in for reduced rent because he was the handyman for the building. He had a good life, though money was often tight he was resolved not to go back to Jay, though he knew the man would welcome him and help him out. He had leeched off Jay for eight years, at least in his opinion. The man had been very kind to him, and he was grateful, but it was time to make it on his own.  
  
He glared around the club. Time to get down to business. He was out of money. He had almost no food left and it was time to start working this club. It WAS why he was here after all. He had to pay his little expenses. This club was very crowded, with flashing globe lights. The music was too loud and very wild and the dance floor was packed. The flashing lights were annoying and the music was giving him a headache, but both would make his job easier.  
  
He moved his way across the dance floor. He danced with some girls fleetingly, and bumped into people frequently. He was emptying the pockets of quite a few people along the way. Several times he was stopped by ladies with offers of phone numbers, or who swayed their hips and slurred words they thought were seductive. Really, there were times he cursed his good looks. While they made him look older and allowed him to get into bars like this one, they hindered his work sometimes.  
  
Like NOW for instance.  
  
He knew it was his own fault for picking a club as trashy as this one. The girls here seemed desperate for a good fuck with any half-way decent looking guy. And Brennan was certainly more than half-way decent.  
  
An arm slipped around his waist and a girl in a skimpy baby-T fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Hey, baby, wanna dance?" The smell of booze was strong on her breath, and her words were slurred slightly. She wasn't trashed, but obviously drunk.  
  
He looked her up and down. She wasn't immediately perceived as the type who would come here with the sole intention of getting laid. A dance probably wouldn't hurt. He bet she carried a money clip in those tight jeans of hers, but there was no way he was trying for it when the clothing was that tight. Not even HIS hands were THAT nimble-fingered.  
  
Taking his momentary indecision for consent she pulled him closer. "You're pretty good for a rookie ya know," she giggled.  
  
Brennan smirked at her. "Watchya talkin' 'bout, huh? Come on, tell me out right. Life's too short to beat around the bush."  
  
"I've been watching you all night. And you're not bad; you must have been doing this for a while now."  
  
"Still don't know what you're talking about," Brennan told her calmly, although he did. She had seen him pick-pocket of course. But he had to play these games with her. If she had caught his technique, then she was either a thief or a cop. Jay's teachings had not gone to waste and he was an excellent pick-pocket. If this girl had been simply checking him out, she would not have noticed his lifting the wallets. A thief or a cop might catch it though. And if she was the latter and she hadn't arrested him yet maybe he could pay her off.  
  
"You've been lifting wallets you bad boy."  
  
"Well? What're you gunna do about it, huh? Arrest me?"  
  
"I'm not going to arrest you. If I had a pair of handcuffs I'd use them for something more fun than to ARREST you, big boy," she smirked. Brennan smirked back. "But seriously. You ARE good. I'm here to offer you a job."  
  
A...job. Right. That made sense...  
  
Ok, so it didn't.  
  
"Huh?" was his brilliant reply.  
  
"Huh?" she imitated. "A job, braniac. This might be a good thing for you. You do a good job and we might even hire you again. You'll get training, exshpiensh, cut of the profitsh... Everything a guy like you could want. Ish a good deal." Her words continued to slur together and she kept breaking off into giggles. Brennan wondered if his first opinion was wrong, maybe she WAS trashed. "Think 'bout it will ya?"  
  
"I'll do that," he said non-comitally, with no intention of doing so. He liked his life. He was doing ok, and he didn't need some drunk who was probably just rambling to shake it up.  
  
Anyway, he was happy with the load he had brought in; it would be enough to hold him for awhile. So he should probably go. He made a move to leave, but the blonde latched onto his wrist.  
  
"Where you think you're going, huh?"  
  
"Uh, home?" was Brennan's, once again, brilliant reply.  
  
"Nuh-uh! You can't drive. You're drunk," she said determinedly. Brennan raised an eyebrow.  
  
"A) I only had a glass of rum and coke, and am nowhere NEAR drunk, and B), I'm not driving."  
  
"Don't kid a kidder!" she giggled. "You can't fool me. No way am I letting you drive!" And with that, she held up a pair of keys, on a very familiar key chain...  
  
"Hey! Those are my keys!" he cried as he made a grab for them. 'How did she...Oh, right, a fellow pick-pocket. Dammit!'  
  
"Come and get them, big boy." And on that note, she slipped them inside her impossibly tight shirt. Damn! His house key was on that key chain!  
  
"Come on, give me back my keys!" he snapped. He wasn't willing to fish around in that tight baby-T for them, that was for sure. At eighteen, he wasn't a total stranger to woman, but as drunk as she was, it would border on taking advantage of her. He had to draw the line somewhere.  
  
"Naw. I'm shaving your life. You'll thank me when you're shober!"  
  
"I'm sober now! Give me my God damned keys! I'm telling you, I didn't drive here! I walked!" he growled out. His fists were clenching and unclenching, and he was really fighting not to slug or shock her one.  
  
"Men alwaysh think that they're shober. Now the leasht you can do ish walk me home."  
  
"The least I can do? What the Hell did you ever do for me?"  
  
"I'm shaving your life you imbishil."  
  
"Saving my life? You stole my keys! Give. Them. Back. NOW!"  
  
"Nope!" she said cheerfully, sauntering off through the crowd. Brennan stared after her, mouth open. Then, recovering his senses, he scrambled after her.  
  
And such was his first encounter with Karlie Ripamshan. [1]  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
[1] Ri. Pam. Shan. Ripamshan. ::wails:: I couldn't THINK of anything! Anyways, that's where it came from. Credit where credit is due.... This name is dedicated to Riley, Pam, and Shannon for bugging the Hell out of me to finish this fic. Hehe.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Rockergurl: Oh, good LORD was that short. Sorry everyone, it was totally out of my hands. Blame my beta! It was all her!  
  
Kitta Cat: I can't believe you're blaming Shan!  
  
Rockergurl: hehe, Sorry Shannon. I would have liked this to be longer though... Sorry again. And just because I'm SO nice, I'll get the next chapter out double time! I swear! Scout's honor!  
  
Kitta Cat: That would be SO much more convincing if you had ever been a scout.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
REVIEW RESPONSES:  
  
BLUE: Glad to know your opinion  
  
EYECANDY: Most of the time when characters are OOC it's because that it works for the story, isn't it? @__@  
  
EMMA0211: Shhh... Those are my little secrets, now aren't they?  
  
ELEMENTAL-SPARKY: ::wink:: You really know how to flatter an author donchya?  
  
NOBLE BLUE: People, Jesse is totally immature and we all know it. ::snickers:: Well, he is.  
  
SOMEBODY: Yes, yes they are. ::snickers again::  
  
PETITECAT: Yes, he is a naughty boy, isn't he?  
  
QUEST: Here you go. You no longer have to wait.  
  
PIANO-PLAYER: Oh, Jamie. You're my other half. You HAVE to say nice things about my fics. Rockergurl/Ashley/your other half  
  
ITALIANCHIKE: Yes, fanfiction rules that way, ne?  
  
MOTORALA: I'm also at a loss for words. I'll just not say anything shall I?  
  
COMPUTER GUY: You... you reviewed me? Oh, my lord, I'm going to faint. ::glomps V:: YOU RULE!  
  
SARGE: Ri, what kind of medication have you been TAKING???  
  
KC: Really? I thought the transitions were a little choppy myself....  
  
ACE: Thanks.  
  
ACE: Brennan's an ol' softie at heart, I can just tell.  
  
ACE: I have. 


	5. The One and Only Annoyance

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
A/N : I would like to point out right here and now. Any and all romance anyone might see between Brennan and ANY of my OCs WHATSOEVER is all in your mind. It is Bren/Shal ALL THE WAY BABY!!!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Shalimar had finally relented and allowed him to get out of bed. He was still forbidden to leave Sanctuary under pain of death, or at least under pain of a patented Shalimar ass-kicking, which was almost the same thing. And everyone was still fussing over him! It was incredibly frustrating, but he was out of bed at least! And that seemed a huge achievement with the row the girls put up about it.  
  
He had insisted that he felt fine, and Adam had relented. Shalimar was probably still sulking. However, no one was letting him DO anything! His fever hadn't been THAT high! Sure the first couple of days he had been miserable, flat on his back, only getting up to drag himself to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach. But he. Was. BETTER. Now. He wanted to go out! He wanted to play basketball! He wanted to take a run, go for a swim, do SOMETHING, dammit!  
  
This was just not going to happen with Shal hovering over him and watching his every move. The girl was just way too overprotective for her own good. SHE would rather his activities include taking a nap, resting and relaxing.  
  
Bor~ing!  
  
He glared darkly at his cards. Playing cards wasn't the most exciting thing in the world, especially solitaire, but he had already tried shooting hoops, only to have Emma freak at him and give him a huge lecture. It was mildly amusing, if not slightly annoying. It wasn't like he hadn't heard the same exact speech from all of his team members in the last few days.  
  
He flipped another card. Solitaire. How well it fit his life. He guessed he was destined to go through life alone. It wasn't like he wasn't used to it. He sighed and set down the deck. He was tired, and really was still not up to par, but to admit that and go back to bed would be to admit defeat. Shal would never stop fussing then.  
  
He sighed again with frustration and considered frying the cards just to vent a little. He leaned back in his chair. No one was around... He could SEE the door to the garage from here. It would be so simple to just walk over...grab a car. He cast a glance around the room once again, as if checking for spies or an invisible person. A slow, mischievous smirk started across his face.  
  
With a sly look still on his face, he got up and started off to the door. It didn't make a single sound as he slipped through it, and as he started his favorite black Mercedes, he thought that he was incredibly lucky to have gotten away with this.  
  
He pulled out of the garage still glancing back at the room and into the backseat as if expecting to see his teammates hiding there, ready to pop out and scold him right back into bed. They weren't, and he grinned, giddy with his success.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"Hey," he greeted the young painter once again. She turned from her painting and smiled at him.  
  
"Hey! I'd all but given up on you coming back," she said, laughing a little. Despite her words, she grinned in a way that seemed to say that she had known he would be back. "Where have you been for the last couple of days?"  
  
He rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair in an aggravated gesture. "I guess the whole 'dancing in the rain' was a little too much for my system. I'm not as young and vibrant as you are, don't you know."  
  
He winked at her, and she giggled girlishly. "I got sick and my...roommates practically took me hostage."  
  
Once again he rolled his eyes to punctuate his point. The girl giggled again. Then she looked a little guilty.  
  
"Sorry I got you sick," she said, regret shining in her eyes.  
  
"I got myself sick. It wasn't your fault. Besides...it was...well, it was fun. And fun is something that I haven't had in...well, not in a long time. I don't regret it, not for a second. You shouldn't regret making me do it. It was good for me."  
  
"Good for you? You said that it made you sick."  
  
"It did. But, well, when I was dancing, I LAUGHED. I laughed out loud." Brennan gazed off into nothing. He remembered it. Laughing, long and loud, not a snort of contempt. It was not a fake laugh to fool the people around him, as almost every other laugh he had uttered in his life had been. He had never laughed as he had those few days ago. Never, not once. He looked at his young companion, her head cocked to one side, eyes troubled with confusion.  
  
"People laugh everyday. Is it worth getting sick over just to laugh?"  
  
Brennan's eyes drifted skyward. "Correction. MOST people laugh everyday. Those people take it for granted. Laughing is defiantly worth the price it came with. At least to me." Brennan snapped out of it and looked back at her.  
  
"But that's not the point. The point IS, that I don't regret that day, and neither should you." She still looked a little perplexed, but did not allow it to deter her. She shrugged and accepted his words.  
  
'Good God!' thought Brennan. 'I am so sappy!'  
  
His behavior was totally un-Brennan like, and had been since...well, since he had first come to the park with the intent of avoiding Shalimar, and had ended up meeting this girl. That had been only a little more than a week ago. This new attitude was just so uncharacteristic of him. While it was nice to be able to relax and drop his façade, he noticed that he, for the most part, sounded like a simpering fool. More like his poet and song- writing half than his cocky ex-con one. It wasn't a HORRIBLE change. It was a big one, of course, and certainly one that was hard to swallow in such a short amount of time, but not a HORRIBLE one.  
  
'What will Shalimar think?' The thought jumped, unbidden, into his brain. It caused a fleeting, intense panic. Well, not so much the original thought itself. But what if Shalimar DIDN'T like the change?  
  
What if she HATED it?  
  
Hated HIM?  
  
THAT made panic seize his heart momentarily. The fact that it did cause him panic was just as terrifying. Since when did he become so dependant on what Shalimar thought of him? He didn't know. At the moment he didn't even really care. The fact that he WAS dependant, the fact that he DID value his teammate's opinion so highly...well, it was enough for now.  
  
He focused his thoughts once again on the girl. She was painting. He blinked as he saw that it was no longer the park scene. As a matter of fact he couldn't yet tell what it would be, as she was just starting it. "What happened to your park painting?" he asked, brow creasing with confusion.  
  
"I finished it while you were sick." She flashed a grin at him. "I'll bring it by some time and show it to you." She turned back to her painting that Brennan now recognized as the beginnings of a portrait. He cocked his head and examined it.  
  
"Self-portrait?" he questioned, glancing at her.  
  
"No." She flashed him another smile. "Actually, it's a painting of you." She chuckled at the surprised look that flitted across his handsome features. He seemed puzzled.  
  
"Me? Why me?" He looked back to the painting.  
  
"You have perfect lines. Ever since I first saw you...that first day in the park I've known you would make a GREAT painting." He still looked doubtful. She sighed and set down the brush. "Walk with me," she said, gesturing for him to follow.  
  
He did, and they made quite the odd couple. Him, with his dark hair and eyes, with his long black duster. His clothes had very little color, mostly black. His hair was in impeccable order.  
  
She, on the other hand, was wearing a bright, cheery yellow T-shirt under faded overalls. Painting clothes. Her reddish hair was piled up atop her head in a messy attempt to keep it out of her paint and face. Paint smudged her face and clothes.  
  
Brennan, taking note of the paint splatters, teasingly asked why she used her fingers when she had a perfectly serviceable brush. This set off teasing banter between the two.  
  
The bickering continued for awhile, and then quickly escalated into a who- can-be-the-most-immature contest. And while neither of them held a candle to Jesse, who, despite claims that he had grown up, was still the king of immature pranks and teasing, they did come close.  
  
She stuck out her tongue at him. He crossed his eyes at her. She made a fish face that caused him to snort with suppressed laughter. He rolled his eyes and stuck a finger down his throat. She thumbed her nose at him. He turned his eyelids inside out causing her to shriek. [1]  
  
On and on the two continued, punctuating their little contest with exclamations of, "Oh, THAT'S mature!" and "Well, THAT'S attractive!" and the like. While it was quite amusing to anyone wandering by who happened to bear witness to the little display, it was quite possible that the two could not have been more childish in their antics.  
  
She broke into a run, and he ran after her. She was giggling up a storm, and a mischief that Brennan had never gotten to experience as a child, or ever, for that matter, shining brightly on her teenage features. She ran, until she reached a small, stone bridge, built over a small stream, where she leaned, panting and flushed, against the railing. Brennan laughed as he did the same. He looked down at the cool stone, tracing it lightly with his fingertips. He knew this bridge; it marked the center of the park.  
  
He looked around him, surprised they had come this far. "We're in the middle of the park."  
  
She also looked around. "Uh, yeah, I guess we are. So?" She gave him an odd look.  
  
"How'd we get here?" he blinked, a little disoriented.  
  
"Um...we walked?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you ok?"  
  
He looked down at the stream running underneath the bridge. He traced the lines of the bricks. "Fine..." he said distractedly. He KNEW this place... He hadn't been here in years...but he knew it. "I'm fine," he repeated, as if reassuring himself more than the girl.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Brennan waited not-so-patiently for the weird girl to wake up. He would just retrieve his blasted keys and go HOME. The girl was on the couch, snoring away. He looked at her and sighed. She was going to have one Hell of a hangover when she woke up. Sighing once again in extreme frustration, he got up and headed for the kitchen. One of the things he had learned from his alcoholic father, and even from Jay, who once in awhile had gotten totally plastered, was how to make the best hangover cures. He raided her fridge and got out the ingredients for his own personal cure, dubbed simply a 'scrub'. [2] Just as he was finishing he heard a groan coming from the general direction of the couch.  
  
Remembering last night and the way she had stolen his keys, he gritted his teeth and told himself over and over that she had been trashed and hadn't been herself. He made his way over to the couch where she was curled, eyes tight shut.  
  
He shoved the drink in her hand. She looked up in surprise. "Drink," he ordered gruffly. He plopped in an overstuffed armchair across from her. "If it tastes like raw eggs and salad dressing, you're drinking it too slowly."  
  
She was still staring at him, her mouth a little 'o'. Then she looked disgusted. "There's raw eggs and salad dressing in this?!" She looked at her still-full glass. Her voice rose as she said, "I am SO not drinking ANYTHING...owww..." She stopped and put a hand to her temple as she decided shouting wasn't a good idea at the moment.  
  
"It doesn't have raw eggs or salad dressing," he said steelily. "And I don't feel like watching you puke all morning, so drink it."  
  
"But you said..."  
  
"I said if it TASTES like it. Now drink."  
  
With a sigh, she pinched her nose and downed the stuff. She gagged and coughed. "Nasty!"  
  
"Most hang-over cures are."  
  
She looked at him. "Look...um...This is so embarrassing... Um, did we do, you know, ANYTHING last night?"  
  
Brennan felt his face get hot. "NO!" he denied vehemently, blushing to his roots. [3]  
  
She grinned at his flustered-ness. "Um...then who are you?"  
  
Brennan managed to get his blush under control. "Look, just give me my keys back and I'll be outa your hair."  
  
"Keys?" He got a blank look.  
  
Brennan felt like ganging his head against the wall. "Yes. Keys. People use them to unlock things. Like the one on my key ring. Which you took from me." All this he said slowly and deliberately, as if she was stupid.  
  
Maybe that was because he thought that she was a complete moron. [4]  
  
She shot him a dirty look. "Why would I take your stupid keys?" she snapped irritably at him.  
  
"You said that I was too drunk to drive home."  
  
"Sensible of me," she muttered.  
  
"Of course, I TRIED to tell you that I'd only had one glass of rum and coke."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"And that I had WALKED to the bar..."  
  
"Ah..."  
  
"And that the key on my ring was my HOUSE key, not my car key..."  
  
"Whoops?"  
  
"Yeah. Whoops. Now give 'em over," he demanded.  
  
She blinked at him. "I don't remember what I did with them."  
  
Oh, yes. He would bang his head against that well, that one right there.  
  
Hard.  
  
Really hard.  
  
Until he lost consciousness. That would be good...  
  
"Down your shirt," he gritted out. He was very proud of his self control.  
  
"Oh!" And with that she started digging down the front of her shirt. She blinked and pulled the shirt away from her body and looked down it.  
  
Brennan was on the verge of a nosebleed. Suddenly the floor became fascinating. Oh, look! A piece of lint!  
  
The girl cleared her throat slightly, causing him to look up. She looked a little sheepish. "It would appear that I have lost your keys."  
  
Blink.  
  
Blink, blink.  
  
Lost.  
  
She had LOST his keys.  
  
He would slam his head over and over. He hoped he made a dent in her stupid wall. See, this would teach him to not keep a spare key. Right now he COULD be home being a threat to his OWN walls, but nooooo...  
  
He let out a slow breath and rubbed his temples. "Do you like chicken? I do. I like it EXTRA crispy," he informed her, looking at his fingers calmly. He could just fry her right here and now.  
  
No jury in the WORLD would convict him.  
  
She had no clue what he was talking about of course, but Karlie was not as stupid as she seemed. She saw the look in Brennan's eye. "Ah...right... Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I don't remember if I told you or not, but I'm Karlie. And you?"  
  
Brennan was still eyeing his hands. "Brennan..." He dropped his hands and glared at her. "Now, since you've LOST my keys, I have to go try break into my apartment, if you DON'T mind."  
  
"Look, Brennan, I'm sorry about that. But if you need to get into your apartment, I can help you with that. It's something I'm good at. It's the least I can do, ok?" She looked at him pleadingly.  
  
Brennan thought this over. His alarm, dammit, was not one he could disarm with his power. It was a good one, a bitch to get around, which was why Jay had told him to get that kind. Thieves tend to know the alarms to deter the more amateurish thieves. And his breaking and entering skills were less than perfect...  
  
Once again, she took his indecision as consent. "Great!" she chirped.  
  
"Wait..." he protested weakly as she latched onto him and dragged him off. She, of course, ignored him.  
  
Karlie turned out to be a veritable whirlwind of blonde-haired, blue-eyed energy. She somehow seemed to think she and Brennan were friends. So after helping him to break into his apartment, she stopped by regularly. She took his life by storm, and turned out to be a natural mother hen. When she found out that the young man was virtually living off coffee and the occasional take-out, she often came bearing vegetables. Her visits always left Brennan a little dazed.  
  
As time passed, he adjusted himself to Karlie's...unique friendship. So, on a Sunday, when he was lounging languidly on the couch, when Karlie came busting through the door with a brown paper bag undoubtedly filled with things guaranteed to be green, he wasn't too surprised.  
  
"Brenny!" [5] she chirped happily. She swept down and, though he tried to avoid it, hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Oh, sorry there, love, got some lipstick on you." She smeared the lipstick with her thumb.  
  
He squirmed and scowled at her. "Quit it!"  
  
"Make me," she smirked, ignoring his glare.  
  
"Go AWAY!" he snapped. "The extent that I am not in the mood for your games today isn't even funny Karlie."  
  
"Why, yes, I'm having a lovely day, thank you for asking!" she said cheerfully, ignoring him.  
  
As usual.  
  
"Karlie..." he said warningly.  
  
"WHAT is up your butt today, Brenny?"  
  
"Don't call me that!" he snapped irritably. "You KNOW I hate it!"  
  
"Of course I do! Which is half of the fun of doing it, Brenny!" She patted his cheek affectionately. She laughed at his infuriated expression.  
  
"I hate you right now," he sulked.  
  
"I know you do, love," she said distractedly, heading for the kitchen to put the veggies in the crisper. "Did you eat yesterday?"  
  
"Uh, does coffee count?"  
  
"Brennan!"  
  
"Karlie..."  
  
"Don't you 'Karlie' ME, buster! You are gunna get sick if you keep this up! How do you expect to work? We have a JOB tonight, or have you forgotten?" She glared at him. "I did NOT get you into this business and train you to be one of the best there is so YOU could run yourself into the ground!" She jabbed her finger in his face. She shoved an apple at him. "Now EAT!" And with that she stalked back into the kitchen.  
  
"Yes, MOTHER!" he called back to her. He bit into his apple as he heard Karlie slamming things around in the kitchen, a sure sign she was pissed with him.  
  
Again.  
  
That happened a lot actually...  
  
By the determined way she was moving around his kitchen, he could tell she was making something. Probably for him. "Don't bother Karlie. I'm not hungry."  
  
"I, young man, did not ASK whether you were hungry or not. You are already skin and bones and you WILL eat something. Or I will hurt you."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"This is MY apartment. I can kick you out you know."  
  
"Shut your mouth. Before I commence with the pain."  
  
"I really don't like you."  
  
"Really? Just awhile ago you said you hated me. Dislike is an improvement." She presented him with a large sandwich and carrot sticks. "Eat."  
  
"Are you deaf? Is that the problem? Or do you just not listen? I. Am. Not. Hungry."  
  
She glared at him. In a scolding tone, she admonished, "And I remember informing you that you did not have a choice. I may only be six years older than you, but that makes me six years more experienced than you and I happen to know for a fact that starving yourself to death is not healthy." She sniffed indignantly.  
  
"Yes. Usually anything including the word 'death' isn't healthy," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry I don't follow the food pyramid to perfection, ok?" When she just kept glaring at him he sighed and took a bite of his sandwich. "Happy now?"  
  
Karlie beamed. "Ecstatic!" She patted his head and plopped down next to him and grabbed the remote off the arm of the couch and flipped on the TV. Brennan looked at the screen lazily and popped a carrot stick in his mouth.  
  
"What're you watching?"  
  
"Shhhh!" Her eyes were locked on the screen as she waved her hand at him irritably. "That's where we're hitting tonight. If you don't collapse of hunger first," she added, shooting him a stern look. Brennan quickly busied himself with his sandwich to avoid her glare. Then he focused on the TV. It was on Proxy Blue, who was talking about an auction. Normally, Proxy wouldn't even bother with something so trivial, but this was special circumstances. For one, all the items were worth upwards of a million bucks each. Two, almost all the bidders were all pretty heavy into illegal doings. Connections with the mob, and the way their enemies just 'disappeared', or they funded illegal operations.  
  
As Brennan and Karlie watched the news report, Brennan's face became grave. "It's going to be a bitch to get in. Tell me why we took this job again?"  
  
"Duh. It pays a shit load of money. Look, all we gotta get is the one item. Shouldn't be too hard, right?" She smirked a little at him.  
  
"Yeah, right! It'll be a piece of cherry cheesecake!" he snapped.  
  
"Cherry cheesecake?"  
  
He shrugged. "I like cherry cheesecake. And anyway, YOU say rememberize and wonderfulicious. I can say, 'a piece of cherry cheesecake' if I want."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "You are just a bundle of sunshine today! You ALWAYS get like this before a job. I didn't FORCE you to get into this business you know. It was YOUR decision. So stop sulking already!"  
  
"Oh, like you coming here EVERYDAY and annoying me until I gave in had NOTHING to do with it, right? I'm SO sure." He scowled, glowering at the floor.  
  
"Oh, stop your bitching. Thanks to me you are now one of the best in the business. But I still don't get why you insist on working alone. In most organizations that would cause a lot of trouble. There is no honor among thieves and all that bull. OTHER partners might not be so understanding." She raised an eyebrow at him, letting him digest that for a moment. "Normally, I would have something to say about that little superstition, peculiarity, idiosyncrasy, whatever the Hell it is, but for the fact that you are a GENIUS with electronics. If we had a few more that could disarm electrical stuff like you can I would be one HAPPY woman." She smirked. "But then again, if I had someone else with your talent, you could bet I'd dump you and your mood swings. Worse than a PMSing teenage girl, I swear to God..."  
  
"Gee, thanks!" he drawled, his voice dripping in sarcasm. "I am SO glad that you think so VERY highly of me and my abilities. And as for why I work alone, that's my little secret, isn't it?" She just snorted and rolled her eyes and continued watching the news.  
  
Little secret. His LITTLE secret. Like the fact that he could throw lightning from his hands was no big deal. He admitted that it did come in handy with electronics. It was easy to short-circuit them. Bypassing even delicate alarms proved to be absolutely no problem at all. Much to Karlie's delight. She didn't know of course. No one did, really. THAT was his not-so- little secret.  
  
And if he had his way, a secret it would stay.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
[1] Want to know the sad thing? This is based on a contest I actually had with one of my friends... Only ours went on A LOT longer and was A LOT more immature.  
  
[2] A scrub. A real hang-over cure. My brother's own personal one...and yes, it does really taste like raw eggs and salad dressing. Nasty stuff, that...  
  
[3] Who here would PAY to see Brennan blush like a school girl? ::raises hand:: OOH! OOH! I WOULD!  
  
[4] But who knows? It might have been for a totally DIFFERENT reason. ^__^  
  
[5] Oh, come on! You know it's cute! And you KNOW it would annoy the HELL out of Brennan. Hehehehe.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Rockergurl: Ok, so, what did you all think? I like Karlie a lot... one of the first original characters that I DO like actually... hehehe.  
  
Kitta Cat: That wouldn't be because she's mainly based on YOU would it?  
  
Rockergurl: ::whistles innocently::  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
REVIEW RESPONSES:  
  
QUEST: Ah... unfortunately there isn't a WHOLE lot of Bren/Shal, although there is more towards the end.  
  
SARGE: Oh, well, if you COMAND it....  
  
PETITECAT: Funny? Uh.... It's not really supposed to be... O__o  
  
CHARMING KITTY CAT: Well, at least SOMEONE out there likes a mushy Brennan.  
  
EMMA0211: Ehehehehe... there IS some in there, you just have to look REAL hard. Hehehe.  
  
ACE: Surprise is the best part of any fic. If I told you what was going to happen, what would be the fun in that?  
  
NOBLEBLUE: Karlie's a trip, ain't she? Hehehehe.  
  
SUSAN: Again, this is mostly a Brennan story, not a romance. But there IS Bren/Shal!!  
  
SCIFI CRITIC: Uh... What? No, you're not really making sense.... But this is a BRENNAN'S PAST FIC!! There will probably be more about BRENNAN'S PAST then his present.  
  
ITALIANCHIKE: The guy in this story IS Brennan's stepfather.  
  
SOMEBODY: Ok. 


	6. My Snuggle Bunny

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
A/N : I would like to point out right here and now. Any and all romance anyone might see between Brennan and ANY of my OCs WHATSOEVER is all in your mind. It is Bren/Shal ALL THE WAY BABY!!!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
As you might have guessed, Karlie had re-discovered Brennan's talents. And had eventually gotten him to accept her job offer. He had fought tooth and nail, insisting that he would rather not have major felonies on his record at eighteen. And yet, here he was, only a year and a half later, getting ready to rob an auction house with unbelievably tight security.  
  
He frowned as Karlie checked her gun and loaded it. She noticed his displeased look. "Look, love, I know you hate the things. But those guards at the auction house are going to be armed. You're going to want to be the same. You're not going to have backup when you're disarming the alarms. You should at least have it on you." She handed him a handgun. He paused before taking it. "If all goes to plan, you won't need it. If you do run into trouble, you'll probably only need it for scare anyways. Don't look so worried."  
  
Brennan just nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. When Karlie wasn't looking he took the clip out of the gun. If he needed to defend himself, he would use his power. He would have to be careful. But he would rather stun then do permanent damage. He did a quick check of his other equipment. There was no telling; he might run into a system where he couldn't use his power to manipulate the electronics and bypass the system. He would need his tools then. He wasn't half bad at doing it the old fashioned way after all.  
  
"I don't like the feel of this job, Karlie. It's dangerous, right down to our employer. I swear, if anyone gets hurt pulling this job for him, he'll pay. I don't care about his reputation. I'll take him down before he can blink," growled Brennan.  
  
"I don't like it a whole bunch either, Brenny. But it's a lot of money. And I'm not about to turn it down just because the guy paying happens to be the slimiest man walking. Don't try anything. You're right, he's dangerous. He'd think no more of killing you than squashing a bug." Karlie tied her blonde hair away from her face in a tight ponytail. "You ready? Let's go."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
"When are they gunna get here? They're late," growled Tony. [1]  
  
"They're the best, they can be late if they want," drawled Cameron, examining his nails calmly. Both he and the third person of the team were completely unruffled. Tony was pacing around nervously, peering into the darkness in hope of seeing Brennan and Karlie emerge.  
  
The third member, a burly man named Jack, glared at Tony. "Would you sit DOWN? You're making me dizzy. Karlie and Brennan will be along in their own due time. I take it you've never worked with them before?"  
  
Tony shook his head. "And I don't see how they can be the best, anyways. Isn't this Mulwray guy really young? Like just nineteen or something?"  
  
Cameron raised a perfectly shaped (possibly plucked) eyebrow. "Watch it, kid. You're not exactly a wizened old man you know. And from what I've seen, Mulwray could kick you scrawny ass from here to Timbuktu. To say nothing of what RIPAMSHAN will do to you if she catches you insulting him. Now THAT'S scary." Both Cameron and Jack shuddered visibly.  
  
Jack grumbled, "It should really be against the law that those two can work together."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Jack and Cameron exchanged glances. "You'll see," they said together.  
  
"See what?" chirped the overly-cheerful blonde hair that was Karlie. She had a scowling Brennan in tow.  
  
"Ah. Ripamshan. Mulwray. Punctual as ever I see," remarked Cameron, his green eyes twinkling in amusement. He cast a wink at them and Brennan noted that he had obscenely long lashes. [2] Karlie and Brennan had worked with Cameron and Jack on several different occasions. The fact of it was the two men could not be more different. Cameron wasn't exactly feminine, but his features were almost elfin in their appearance. He was long and lanky, with long red hair and big green eyes. Jack on the other hand, was huge. Broad in the shoulders and chest, with short dark hair. He was handsome in a tough and rugged way. However different in appearance and personality, (which were even more contrasting than their looks) the two were best friends and roommates, and practically inseparable. Brennan was also pretty sure they were more than friends, but that was their business.  
  
The third guy Brennan had never worked with before. He instantly analyzed him. Tall, lanky; probably quick. One look at his hands told Brennan that this guy would most defiantly make a sucky pick-pocket. He was nervous, twitchy, glancing around like he expected the boogie-man to jump out at him from the dark. His face reminded Brennan vaguely of a rat.  
  
Brennan instantly didn't like this man.  
  
"Stop scowling, moppet, your face'll get stuck like that," said Karlie, raising an eyebrow at him.  
  
"Shut up. It's already stuck like this," he snapped back.  
  
She cocked her head. "I don't know. I think if you tried hard enough you could crack a smile. But don't try it just now, Brenny, we don't want you hurting yourself right before a job, do we now, love?"  
  
Brennan grit his teeth. "Quit it. You're wearing on my last nerve Karlie. I think I need a cigarette."  
  
"You don't smoke," Karlie said, rolling her eyes.  
  
"I'll start," he snapped, glaring at her.  
  
"Karlie, can you annoy him later? We have a job to do, remember?" Jack interrupted.  
  
"ME! What about HIM? He's been a total sour-puss all day, and I'VE had to put up with it. He's got a stick up his ass about this job, even more than usual." At Cameron's questioning look, she added, "He doesn't like the employer."  
  
Cameron shrugged. "Can't fault him there. Guy's a creep if you ask me. But his money's as good as anyone else's. Now we gunna do this or what?"  
  
Karlie grinned and tugged at her gloves. "Oh, yeah, we are SO gunna do this."  
  
They were all on the roof of the auction house. Brennan moved towards their entrance; a skylight. The rat-faced Tony made a move to follow him, but was stopped by Jack. "Brennan's the alarm man," he rumbled.  
  
"So?"  
  
"SO, he won't work unless he's alone. He just won't. SO, leave him be," said Cameron, flipping his hair.  
  
Brennan rolled his eyes and got out his tools. Not that he would need them, but better to make a show of using them. Then, carefully shielding what he was doing from the others, he took off his gloves. A quick shock, and, batta-bing, batta-boom, the lock was no longer armed. Times like these made the problems the powers caused almost worth it. He grinned in a feral way and packed up his tools. "Done!" he sang out. Ok, usually he would drag it out a little, make it more realistic, but he wanted to show off a little.  
  
"That was faster than usual, moppet. Been practicing without us?" Karlie teased. Brennan just smirked. Karlie rolled her eyes and readied the cable. "I'll flay you alive if I hear you've been going out on jobs by yourself, understand?" she said, mock sternly. "Cameron, you in the harness yet?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm ready." He sighed. "I go in, take care of the cameras, blah, blah, blah. I know the drill." He wrinkled his nose. "I never get to do anything fun." Karlie, Brennan and Jack stood patiently, having endured this speech before. Cameron pouted at their indifference, and started lowering himself down. "I feel so 'Mission: Impossible' [3] right now..."  
  
Karlie started humming the 'Mission: Impossible' theme, interrupting it with giggles every now and again. Both Brennan and Jack lifted their eyes to the Heavens, wondering WHY exactly these two were their best friends. Brennan massaged his temples. "Just contact us when the cameras are off, would you?"  
  
"Yeah, I got that memo, Mulwray, thanks."  
  
Cameron still grumbled to himself as he avoided a patrolling guard and used his copied key card to open the door to the camera room. "Boring, boring, boring. THIS wire to THAT one...I have to do the same thing EVERY time. Ok, and RECORD... You'd expect the life of a career criminal to be exciting, glamorous, but noooo...it's BORING. All right, and switch the tapes. TA- DAH! On a loop. And it was SO perilous, I might have broken a nail..."  
  
"I take it that means you're done?" asked Brennan tiredly.  
  
"Ranting or sabotaging the cameras?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"Oh. Yeah, I'm done."  
  
"Fantastic. I'm so happy for you. We're coming in, then." Brennan adjusted his comm. and jumped through the skylight on his zip cord. Tony, Jack and Karlie all followed quickly.  
  
As soon as they hit the ground they were off. A Hell of a lot of planning and surveillance meant they knew exactly when the guards changed shifts, their rotations, how long it took to make a round, EVERYTHING. Everything was about TIMING. Somewhere along the way, Cameron joined them. "When we get there, you'll have exactly four minutes, Mulwray. It's gunna be tight. Can you do it?"  
  
"Plenty of time. I'll only need two. Three tops."  
  
"Two? That's good, even for you Brenny. Are you sure?" asked Karlie, an eyebrow raised.  
  
Before he could answer, however, a guard rounded the corner and he and the group all but ran into each other. Before the poor guard could even blink, Jack was on him and knocked him out with the butt of his gun. "What the Hell. He was early," Jack grumbled.  
  
Brennan just shrugged and slipped into the room. Then he grinned. Lasers, heat sensors, voice, retina and fingerprint scanning, and then on the other side of the room, two key cards had to be inserted at the same time to open the door to the vaults, which had security in themselves. But that wasn't his problem. He just had to deal with everything leading UP to the vault. Like he'd said, three minutes, tops.  
  
He began frying the security. It was too easy. Brennan had found out very early on his talent for manipulating electronics with his power. Not only could he short circuit them, he could override them and access them. Good as any keycard. In a matter of seconds most of the alarms were off. He gave his fingers a shake to loosen them up and shot electricity into the two card slots simultaneously. He grinned when the warning light flickered from red to green. He was in. He checked his watch. A minute and forty-five seconds. 'A new world record! And the crowd goes wild!'  
  
With a proud smirk, he opened the door separating him from his teammates. "Done," he smirked. He bowed Tony in, smirk still playing on his lips. "The way is clear. I DO hope you're good. We don't exactly have time for a Jimmy Valentine."  
  
Tony sent a glare his way, before running past. Karlie was looking at him suspiciously. She still thought he must be doing jobs on his own to get this good this fast. He had better not be doing side jobs without back-up, that was all she could say. A great way to get yourself killed, that was.  
  
In any case, he was good, better than her even, and she was the best. Or at least she used to be. Now she was giving up the title to the moody teen. Not that she really minded. Brennan had skills she just couldn't touch. Skills he would have gotten eventually even if she hadn't trained him. And then she wouldn't have the most excellent advantage of having him on her team. Brennan kept glancing at the door, WILLING Tony to hurry up.  
  
Karlie chuckled. "Chill, wonder boy. Not everyone does your perfect two minute jobs. Some of us actually need time." He just growled and she shrugged. "Besides, you gave him a two minute leeway, snuggle bunny."  
  
"WHAT did you just call me?!" he snapped, eyes all but bugging out of his head. Cameron and Jack were all but rolling on the floor with laughter.  
  
"Snuggle bunny. What? You don't like it?" She blinked innocently.  
  
"Like Hell I do!"  
  
"Honey Bear?"  
  
Brennan sent her a withering look. If looks could kill, the coroner would have had to go into her dental records to identify the body. Jack and Cameron continued to snicker at the outraged look on Brennan's face. This was the scene Tony walked in on with the goods.  
  
"Hey, guys, I-" he trailed off.  
  
Jack and Cameron were practically holding each other up, they were laughing so hard. Brennan was opening and closing his fists, an enraged look on his face, and Karlie was saying, "No? Baby Cakes? Sugar Sweetie? Huh? How about- "  
  
"Look! Tony's here!" Brennan said, a little too loudly. "Let's go!" He grabbed Karlie's hand and started dragging her off.  
  
"But wait! I have lots more!" she yelped in protest.  
  
"Oh, no you do not!"  
  
Their bickering continued down the hall and Jack and Cameron followed, amused looks still on their faces. "Well," commented Tony, "those two certainly make an INTERESTING couple."  
  
"COUPLE?" laughed Jack. "THOSE two? A COUPLE? They'd kill each other within a week. They're just friends."  
  
"I've GOT it! Bitty baby kitty cat!" [4]  
  
"Go. To. Hell."  
  
"Well... most of the time," Cameron amended.  
  
Karlie had gotten them in, Cameron had taken care of the cameras, Jack had taken out the guard, Brennan had disarmed the alarms and Tony had cracked the safe. All in all, the job got done. The easy way Brennan had taken care of the alarms shut Tony up, and made the job a Hell of a lot easier. The long time it had taken Tony to crack the safe had made Brennan nervous, but in the end Brennan decided it was all very anti-climactic. The job had been pulled off with barely a hitch. Which was just the way he liked them.  
  
He cast a glance at the case that Karlie was now holding and gloating over. Jack and Cameron had each lit up a victory cigarette. All that fuss and no action. "Hello, little thing," whispered Karlie delightedly to the case. "Do you know how much lovely money you're going to make Mommy? Over a quarter of a million!" she squealed. "Maybe now you can move out of that crummy apartment, Brennan."  
  
"I like my apartment," he said stubbornly. "Can we just make the drop? Center of the park right? I wanna get this over with. And I don't care HOW much the job's worth, I'm NEVER pulling another heist for this guy. The whole thing makes me nervous.  
  
"Agreed," chimed Karlie, Jack and Cameron.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Brennan was so lost in his thoughts and memories, perched on the railing of the bridge, that he didn't even notice the girl coming almost right next to him. "Hey!" she said, almost right in his ear.  
  
"GAH!" Brennan almost jumped out of his skin. Unfortunately, this made him lose his balance and fall backwards into the stream.  
  
"Oh, my God! Are you ok?" she asked, leaning over and peering at him concernedly.  
  
Brennan looked up at her grumpily, completely soaked. "Just. Freaking. Peachy," he spit out. She only laughed at him.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
[1] You know the Tony from the first episode The Shock of the New? And Deadly Desire? THAT Tony.  
  
[2] Why IS it that MEN always get the LONGEST eyelashes?? Has anyone else noticed this??  
  
[3] Just to be safe... I do not own Mission: Impossible, or the theme song.  
  
[4] Yes, this is once again, based on a real conversation. This time between my brother and his girlfriend. Hehehehe... Now he gets really pissed whenever she calls him 'Kitty Cat'. So of course she does it all the time.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Rockergurl: Getting near the end now! One more chapter and the epilogue.  
  
Kitta Cat: ::mutters:: Thank God...  
  
Rockergurl: I heard that.  
  
REVIEW RESPONSES: Only five this time, so sad.  
  
QUEST: Pam, have we not HAD this conversation? It. Is. A. Brennan. Story. I'm SORRY, I suck at romance, you know I do. You KNOW I'm the ANGST queen. If you want romance talk to Lauren.  
  
SOMEBODY: Maybe just a little torture. Killing off Brennan wouldn't be any fun, now would it?  
  
EMMA0211: Yes. We are. Eventually.  
  
PETITECAT: Well, you OBVIOUSLY don't have a protective mother hen kind of older sibling. Which, coincidently, is what I was going for in Karlie and Brennan's relationship. I, however, DO have a protective mother hen kind of older sibling, only it's a he. Karlie is based on me and him rolled into one, and her and Brennan's relationship is based on mine and my brother's. The way she ignores Brennan is mostly to annoy him and because she knows that she's doing what's best for him. Or something. @__@  
  
SARGE: O__o; Riley, I (and consequently, mi otra mitad, por supuesto) will never get your taste in music. 


	7. How do I Breathe

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
A/N : I would like to point out right here and now. Any and all romance anyone might see between Brennan and ANY of my OCs WHATSOEVER is all in your mind. It is Bren/Shal ALL THE WAY BABY!!!  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Shal was going to kill him.  
  
Squish, squish, squish.  
  
Unless she hadn't noticed he was gone yet.  
  
Squish, squish, squish.  
  
And if he managed to get to his room and change before anyone saw him.  
  
Squish, squish, squish.  
  
And then managed to come back and clean up this water he was dripping before she noticed THAT.  
  
Squish, squish, squish.  
  
...  
  
Shal was SO going to kill him.  
  
Brennan squished his way to his room. Miraculously he didn't see anyone. Was it possible he had actually gotten away with this?! YES! He very carefully slipped into his room and slid the door shut silently. He smothered a triumphant grin and peeled off his sopping shirt. Then he turned and got very, very pale.  
  
Because he was facing a very, very pissed Shal.  
  
"Ah...hehe...hi?"  
  
"I'm going to kill you!" Brennan cringed, the words reminding him of his father. He stood there and tried to withstand Shal's rant.  
  
"...Gone for hours..."  
  
Had it been that long?  
  
"...No NOTE..."  
  
Like he would've taken the time to write a note when the door to freedom was wide open and practically screaming his name.  
  
"...I was worried SICK..."  
  
She had been? His heart lifted a little. She cared about him?  
  
"...Come home, SOAKING wet! I don't know HOW you managed to do that..."  
  
He wondered about that a little too, actually...  
  
"... I can't believe you snuck out when you were still sick! Didn't even tell anyone where you were going!"  
  
Well, of COURSE not! They would have stopped him!  
  
"And you are going back to bed, RIGHT NOW, and not moving an INCH until I say so, GOT THAT? Not ADAM'S say-so, or JESSE'S, or EMMA'S, but MINE!" She jabbed a finger against his chest.  
  
Brennan managed to squeak out a feeble, "Yes, ma'am." He tried not to think about the fact that he was standing next to Shal, shirtless. In his bedroom. With the bed, right there. That kind of made it harder to think.  
  
Suddenly, she didn't look as if she was about to rip off his head and play soccer with it. As a matter of fact, she suddenly looked concerned. "Brennan, where did you get this?"  
  
Brennan blinked down to where she was fingering an old scar. One of his more obvious ones, from a knife wound his father had given him. "Or this?" This one was smaller, and less noticeable. Suddenly, she was finding all his old scars, right down to the little circular burn scars from his father's cigarettes, circling all around his waist at even intervals, like a belt, and the welts on his back from the whippings he had received. "Brennan?" she questioned again. "Who did this to you? Tell me." Her voice was full of suppressed rage.  
  
He caught her wrist as it was tracing the knife wound again. He was breathing hard, flustered. Shal's hands, on him, touching him in feathery light caresses...it was driving him wild. "Shal," he said in a rather strangled voice, "it was a long time ago. Forget it. I have."  
  
She blinked at him, a sudden sly smile crossing her features. "Why, Brennan Mulwray, I do believe I ordered you to bed." She leaned forward and gently kissed the knife wound. Brennan let out a choking sound. She moved down to the burns on his waist.  
  
Liquid fire ran through his veins as Shalimar kissed, licked and sucked gently at his scars. Kiss it and make it all better. "Shalimar, Shalimar..." he murmured over and over, like his own personal mantra.  
  
"Shal, I..." he gasped. He let out a groan as she sucked on a scar near his neck.  
  
Suddenly, much to Brennan's dismay, she stopped. "Brennan, what are these?"  
  
Taking a shuddering breath, he looked where her gaze was pointed. It was once again on scars. Only these scars were not on his chest or his back, nor were they inflicted by his father. These scars were fresher, but still old. They ran across his wrists. The mood broken, he pulled away. He turned away and grabbed a shirt out of his dresser and pulled it on roughly.  
  
Shalimar wasn't about to let it drop, however. "Brennan, answer me, dammit, what did you do?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.  
  
"Well, we are damn well GOING to talk about it whether you want to or not, Brennan Mulwray!" she snapped.  
  
"It was a long time ago, ok? I was hurting, I wanted it to end! All right? It didn't work."  
  
He stopped after his outburst and he put his hands on his hips and glared at the floor, refusing to look at her. Her eyes softened slightly. "Brennan," she breathed, "tell me. Please. I want to know. I want to know what's hurting you."  
  
Brennan just shook his head. "I don't think you would understand Shal. I don't think that anyone could." His voice shook with emotion.  
  
Shalimar took his hand and pulled him onto the bed, looking seriously into his eyes. "Why don't you try me and find out?"  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Cameron, Jack, Tony, Karlie and Brennan arrived at the bridge marking the center of the park to find their employer already there and waiting, complete with two huge bodyguards. The guy was tall, with slicked back hair, in a designer suit and shoes. He could almost pass for a stand-up business man.  
  
Almost.  
  
"Do you have it?" he asked coolly.  
  
"Do you?" snapped Karlie.  
  
The man shot a look to one of his bodyguards and gave a slight nod. The bodyguard lifted a case and snapped it open, revealing their payment, before snapping it shut.  
  
Satisfied, Karlie lifted her own, similar, case and opened it, revealing what the five of them had gone through so much to get; a collection of some of the largest and most valuable stones in the world. A look at the second bodyguard caused the beefy man to come over and take the case from her. He immediately started examining the stones to guarantee their authenticity.  
  
The five thieves exchanged impatient looks. It was all Brennan could do to keep himself from just grabbing the money and leaving. This guy seriously made his skin crawl. Finally the second bodyguard snapped the case shut and gave a nod to his boss.  
  
A smirk crossed his face, making him look even slimier. "Good. You didn't try to screw me over. How intelligent of you."  
  
Duh. They weren't THAT stupid. Insufferable bastard.  
  
The man's smirk widened. "As your reward, I'll kill you quickly." And with that, the bodyguards shoved guns practically in the faces of the five surprised thieves. "No hard feelings, eh? It's just business after all. You understand."  
  
No. Brennan didn't. He didn't understand why this guy and his goons had guns pointed at his friends. At HIM...And Tony. His hands twitched involuntarily, imagining frying this guy into oblivion.  
  
As a reward, he got a glance and a smooth, "You'll be dead before you could draw it, Mr. Mulwray."  
  
Huh? Oh, yeah, the gun. Stupid thing...  
  
In that moment, in the fraction of a second that the three of them were focused on Brennan, Jack and Cameron lunged.  
  
And the gun went off.  
  
And someone screamed.  
  
And Karlie fell.  
  
The world stopped. Everything just...stopped. Time stopped ticking. The earth stopped spinning. Brennan stopped breathing.  
  
One heart beat.  
  
Breathe in.  
  
Another beat.  
  
Breathe out.  
  
Why did he need to remind himself how to breathe? Breathing was a very simple thing. He breathed every second, of every minute, of everyday. Everyone did. Except Karlie. Karlie wasn't breathing anymore.  
  
Breathe in.  
  
He was so cold. Like he'd been dumped in ice water. 'Stand up, Karlie. Right now. Joke's over. This isn't funny anymore.'  
  
This had never been funny.  
  
Breathe out.  
  
She was sleeping. It was night. It was late. She must be tired.  
  
Why weren't her eyes closed?  
  
'Close your eyes Karlie. Let me believe you're sleeping.'  
  
He didn't see when Jack and Cameron and Tony overpowered the bodyguards and sent the guns flying. He didn't see the three men, including Karlie's murderer, escape to their car or hear when they peeled away. He didn't hear Jack's soft curse or Cameron's sobs.  
  
All he heard was the gunshot and the scream.  
  
All he saw was Karlie fall.  
  
And the blood.  
  
Karlie was a baby about blood. Couldn't even look at it without freaking out. Why wasn't she freaking out?  
  
There was so much blood...  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Brennan was sitting dully on his kitchen floor, staring at the door like it would make Karlie come through it. The first thing she'd do would be yelling at him for not eating. When WAS the last time he'd eaten anything? He didn't remember. Yesterday? Maybe.  
  
God, was he tired.  
  
The phone rang. He didn't even blink. Let the machine get it.  
  
There was a click as the machine started.  
  
// "Hey, is this on?"// Karlie's voice came from the recording and his heart clenched. His eyes burned. // "I'm probably not doing it right...//  
  
He. Would. Not. Cry.  
  
Over the recording he heard his own voice.  
  
// "Stop messing with my phone.  
  
"Whatever. Anyway, this is HIS apartment. Say something Brenny!"  
  
"..."  
  
A long suffering sigh. "If you want to leave a message for Mr. Articulate here, do so...NOW!"//  
  
*BEEP*  
  
"Mulwray? Pick up." Cameron. Who else called him Mulwray? "Mulwray, I KNOW you're there, pick up the phone."  
  
Not. Likely.  
  
"Look, Mulwray, we were worried when you didn't come to Ripamshan's funeral. Please pick up."  
  
Funeral. Burial. Karlie was underground right now. Oh, God.  
  
It was suddenly a lot harder to keep the tears in.  
  
He suddenly felt very nauseous. He scrambled to the sink, where he stood, dry-heaving, there being nothing in his stomach to throw up. He filled a glass of water, figuring it was better to throw up something than nothing, but surprisingly, it stayed down. He pressed the cool glass against his forehead and closed his eyes.  
  
The God damned phone was ringing again.  
  
// "Hey, is this on? I'm probably not doing it right..." //  
  
God, he missed her. He listened as the rest of the message played and then the caller identified himself.  
  
Cameron.  
  
Again.  
  
Knowing the man wouldn't give up, he walked over and picked up the phone.  
  
"Alright, I'm here, shut up already," he growled. He looked around his kitchen for something to clean, but it was sparkling.  
  
"Mulwray? You picked up!"  
  
As a matter of fact, he had taken the dishes out of the cabinet and washed them all, just for something to do. And he found himself going around making messes for the sole purpose of cleaning them up.  
  
God, he was so messed up.  
  
"Yes, I picked up. You're a persistent little bugger, I'll give you that," he said tiredly. He was so tired. He just wanted to lie down and sleep forever, to just never wake up.  
  
"Mulwray, I know you. And I know that you don't bother taking care of yourself unless Ripamshan made you. I'm worried about you. When was the last time you ate?"  
  
Brennan bit back the urge to collapse into hysterical giggles. He just sounded so much like Karlie! Who knew Cameron was the mother hen type?  
  
He paused before answering, "Uh... Not sure. Awhile ago?" Before the disapproval that Brennan just KNEW was coming, he interrupted, "I'll eat, ok? I'll make something right now. Satisfied?"  
  
"Not really. But it'll have to do. Take care of yourself, Mulwray."  
  
"I'll try. Thanks Cameron. Later."  
  
"I mean it, Mulwray. Ciao."  
  
Brennan hung up. Then he unplugged the phone and sat down on the kitchen floor again.  
  
Just so tired...  
  
He considered dragging himself out for a pick-me-up, but didn't think it was really worth the effort. Nothing seemed worth the effort anymore. He kept seeing it. He saw the goon's finger twitch on the trigger. He'd seen it.  
  
And there had been no time to charge up.  
  
He might have been able to pull his gun. But it would have been useless. Bullet less.  
  
And there it was. He'd killed Karlie. It should have been him. Karlie didn't deserve to die; she was so happy, so full of life. She didn't deserve it.  
  
Life sucked.  
  
And with the immense profoundness of that thought, Brennan came to a decision. This life had bruised and battered him. It had, shoved, hit and kicked him around. Sent him a savior and then ripped his heart out and stomped on it. This life didn't want him?  
  
Well, screw that!  
  
Screw this life!  
  
He didn't want it either!  
  
He would end it.  
  
He would end it all.  
  
And with that, he was out the door.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
He had no big, elaborate plan. He went to the bridge where Karlie had been murdered. There was no dramatic purpose for it. He had started walking and somehow ended up here, and figured this was as good of a place as any. Fitting even. He took out the knife Jay had given him. He had only used it a few times, but had kept it razor sharp and treasured it.  
  
He sliced his wrists and slumped to the ground and watched the life flow out of him.  
  
It didn't even hurt anymore.  
  
He closed his eyes and knew no more.  
  
Brennan wasn't conscious when a jogger found him and called 911.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"Shal."  
  
"..."  
  
"Shaaaaaal."  
  
"..."  
  
"Shalimar." Pause. "You mad at me?"  
  
"YES!"  
  
"I just can't tell you, Shal. I can't go through that again. It very nearly destroyed me the first time. A second just might kill me."  
  
She looked at him.  
  
"It was a long time ago?"  
  
"Yes. Ten years."  
  
"And you haven't tried since?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Not even a THOUGHT of it."  
  
"Not a single one."  
  
She took a deep breath. "All right then. I guess the reason isn't important then. As long as you promise, PROMISE me, Brennan, that you will NEVER do anything like that again. Understand me?" It was not a question.  
  
"Yeah, I got it." His brown eyes flickered amusedly.  
  
"Good." She shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Because I care about you. You know that, right?"  
  
His eyes softened. "I didn't actually. But thanks for telling me."  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
After Karlie's death and his failed suicide, Brennan closed off. He started to drink more, though not nearly enough to be considered an alcoholic, as his father still haunted his mind. He had drowned himself in cheap women and even cheaper whiskey. Cameron and Jack actually stood by him, and more then once dragged him out of the sleazy bars or nightclubs he was drunk in, or let him crash on their couch. Eventually, he got better and went back to his job as a career criminal.  
  
Only this time he kept his gun loaded.  
  
His life at Sanctuary was so much better.  
  
Shal slipped her hand into his. Ah. Yet another aspect of his hands he liked. Shalimar's slender fingers fit perfectly into his own. She looked at him, heart in her eyes, before slipping out of his room, her grip sliding out of his. He watched as she slid the door shut and say down on the bed. "I think...I think that I could love you, Shalimar." His words hung in the air.  
  
Shalimar was leaning against his door, and with her advanced hearing, [1] she heard the words meant for her, and a smile flitted across her features. "I think that I could love you too, Brennan," she whispered, and walked away, with a small smile still on her face.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
When Brennan came up on the girl, she wasn't painting. She had a painting with her, covered by a drop cloth. She looked like she was waiting for him, and a knowing smile was on her face. Her hair was down today, flowing down to her shoulders.  
  
"You've found it."  
  
"It?"  
  
"Your one true passion of course. You've found it. I can tell."  
  
A smile crossed his face as he thought of a certain blonde-haired, brown- eyed feral who had been occupying his every thought recently.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I might have, actually."  
  
Her knowing smile got wider. "Does she know yet?"  
  
He erupted into laughter. "Is it THAT obvious it's a her? Or do you just know everything?" he asked, vastly amused.  
  
"A bit of both," she responded with a wink. Her smile saddened a bit. "I won't be seeing you anymore."  
  
"Why not?" he asked, confused.  
  
"I have to go home now."  
  
"Home?"  
  
"You should go back to her now. Tell her. Be happy." She walked over, gave him a peck on the cheek and put the painting in his hands and closed his slender fingers around it. "Good luck, Brennan."  
  
And with that she turned and walked away. She was gone before he even realized what she had said, or wonder about how she knew his name. He looked down at the painting, and removed the drop-cloth. It was the park scene he had first seen her painting.  
  
And there, in the bottom corner was the signature. Just the first name.  
  
Averlie.  
  
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[1] I do not claim to know everything about new mutant ferals. I'm not sure whether or not ferals have advanced hearing. And since Shal has mutated, I don't know if only SHE among ferals has advanced hearing or even IF she has it... And I'll shut up now. Just know that this is fanfiction and I say that Shalimar has advanced hearing, so she DOES!!! Ok??  
  
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Readers: OMG! You killed Karlie!  
  
Kitta Cat: ::blinks:: Woah. South Park flash back...  
  
Rockergurl: ::wails:: I KNOW! I'm SORRY! It just HAPPENED! I didn't MEAN to!  
  
Kitta Cat: Oh, and Rockergurl, obviously, doesn't own South Park either.  
  
REVIEW RESPONSES:  
  
ALIASJANEDOE: All the men in my family have the LONGEST lashes in history. Luckily, so do the women. ::bats her LOOOONG lashes::  
  
EYECANDY: O__O hehe, don't hurt me. Here's the last chapter. Just the epilogue to go.  
  
COMPUTER GUY: OMFL!! THE Computer Guy has reviewed my story. TWICE!! Are you feeling ok? You, like, never REVIEW stories. Hell, you, don't READ stories. Ok, I'm exaggerating. Slightly.  
  
PIANO-PLAYER: I like to think that it's our creative genius that makes a story great mi otra mitad. Notice the OUR, por favor. You have it too. You have everything I do. Duh. GOOD CHARLOTTE RULES!!  
  
QUEST: Well, if this part had you laughing, I'm giving up on you. I needed a tissue or two writing it. But that's just ME. I cry at... EVERYTHING.\ 


	8. To Call an Angel

Title; Slender Fingers Warnings; Language, dark themes, OOC, OCs, suicide attempts, abuse, death, in parts a wet, topless Brennan... Yummy..... Disclaimer; Sadly, I own nothing. I just like to play with Mutant X, and promise to return them in good condition when I'm done... Key; "Blah"-talking, 'Blah'-thinking, ~ ~-change of scene, * *-shift between Brennan's present and his past.  
  
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A/N : I would like to point out right here and now. Any and all romance anyone might see between Brennan and ANY of my OCs WHATSOEVER is all in your mind. It is Bren/Shal ALL THE WAY BABY!!!  
  
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Brennan sat in the seat nervously as Shal put the Mercedes in park. Noticing his nervousness she reached over and took his hand. "Do you want me to come with you?"  
  
He paused, seriously considering it, before reaching over and kissing her cheek. "Just wait here. This won't take long," he said softly.  
  
She gave him an understanding look and nodded. Brennan let out a deep breath and slipped out of the car. He paused at the gates and glanced back. Shal gave him an encouraging nod, and he walked through.  
  
He quickly found the grave he was looking for and crouched down. He placed the flowers in front of the marker reading his mother's name.  
  
"Sorry that I haven't been to see you before," he said to the marker, voice hoarse. "How are things in Heaven?" He sent a glance back towards the direction of Shal and the car. "Cause things here on earth are... Well, they're better."  
  
He ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at the sky for a moment. "I didn't kill you. Did I." It was said softly, but with an air of finality. "Or Karlie either. I'm not a murderer. Am I." Again, it was not a question.  
  
He traced his mother's name with a fore-finger for a moment. Avery Mulwray. "I miss you. I wish I had known you. I wish YOU had known ME. And Shalimar. I wish a lot of things." A sigh escaped him as he rocked back on his heals.  
  
"I have to go now. Shalimar's waiting, and I still have someone else to visit." As he stood up, he turned back to the grave. "And...I love you."  
  
He turned and walked away from the grave, and his past. Towards Shalimar and his future. He still had to visit Karlie after all...  
  
It was probably just a coincidence that the girl's name was a combination of his mother's and Karlie's names. Avery and Karlie. Averlie.  
  
Yeah, probably.  
  
And the fact that she'd been a painter and had red hair like his mother, and had a spirit like Karlie's meant nothing at all.  
  
Right?  
  
Right.  
  
And it's not like there was such things as ghosts.  
  
At least...he didn't think.  
  
Maybe she was an angel.  
  
Yeah.  
  
Maybe.  
  
A paint splattered angel in overalls.  
  
Hey. It could happen.  
  
Anything's possible.  
  
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Rockergurl: So... That's it. ALL DONE!  
  
Kitta Cat: FINALLY.  
  
Rockergurl: I like Slender Fingers A LOT better than my first fic. Although there's not as much Bren/Shal as I usually like... OH WELL! Plenty of time for that in my new fic, Undefined! COMING SOON TO A THEATER NEAR YOU!  
  
Kitta Cat: Riiiiiiight. After you write it, type it, and get it beta-ed. Doesn't that take you like MONTHS?  
  
Rockergurl: Hehehe, you can't rush the creative process you know.  
  
Kitta Cat: ::rolls eyes:: You are such a moron...  
  
Rockergurl: I know... But you love me anyways right?  
  
Kitta Cat: .....  
  
Rockergurl: Riiiiiight?  
  
Kitta Cat: ....  
  
Rockergurl: Ah... Right. Anyways! Hope you enjoyed the fic!  
  
REVIEW RESPONSES:  
  
QUEST: You think it's COOL that I killed Karlie? O.O uh...  
  
NOBLEBLUE: Well, at least SOMEONE thinks it's sad. ::glares @ Pam::  
  
SOMEBODY: Well, after this, no matter HOW much you plead, I cannot give you more. This is the end. So sorry.  
  
ITALIANCHIKE: One is already in the works...kinda. 


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